Chandru went to the Mozamjahi Market, not a familiar locality until about two months ago. These new places and new people formed a part of his new commitments. Not that he was bound to take an active part in what was going on. He could easily turn a blind eye to the situation round him and live out his life like the rest of the family who had lived here for generations but still behaved like visitors, taking neither interest nor responsibility in the affairs of the State.
After all, problems found their own solutions in due course, family problems as well as problems of the country. Moreover, several important people were involved in the present problem of Hyderabad. There were the Razakars, Laiq Ali, Kasim Razvi, the Nizam, Jayaprakash Narayan, Vallabhbhai Patel, Jawaharlal Nehru, Swami Ramanand Tirth, Digambar Rao Bindu, Kasinath Vaidya. Theirs was the direct responsibility. They had better have all the answers. None of them, however, was going to bother about Chandru or ask him, 'Have you eaten yet?' He was just not important enough for them to bother about. Narasimha Rao and his kind were the only ones to whom Chandru mattered. But now even those people seemed to have abandoned him. A whole week's search for Narasimha Rao's group had been in vain. Everyone seemed to have vanished. It was a Hegde he wanted to meet now. A Hegde known simply as Hegde. His other name was unknown. He wouldn't tell, though Chandru had asked him. Fear of the police, perhaps. The police may take even Chandru one of these days. But he had little to confess even if they chose to tie him up and beat him. What he might reveal would be of no value to the police. All the more reason why he might be roughed up severely.
Hegde was not at home. Only an old woman. The number of old women in Hyderabad appeared to have gone up considerably.
Chandru went to the Public Gardens again. This time he went in. The gate, the fence, the buildings were all grand to look at. But the garden inside was dismal. Like the Nizam, a shrivelled up figure in crumpled clothes sitting huddled up in a corner of that huge sleek limousine. Chandru sat down on the lawn littered with garbage and dry leaves. After a while he lay down on the grass like several others there. And soon, like the others, he too went to sleep.
III
1
Chandru was standing at the gate when the astrologer came. 'Going somewhere?' he asked Chandru. It is considered a bad omen sighting a Brahmin just when one is starting out.
'No... Yes,' said Chandru.
'Anyway, come in and sit down for a while before you leave,' advised the astrologer, that being the antidote for the bad omen. Chandru stood aside to let him enter and followed him. The astrologer sat down on the long swing in the veranda. Chandru went to the kitchen and announced, 'Lord Saturn is here.'
'What? So early in the morning?' his mother wondered. 'And on an auspicious Friday too! He has come in time for a meal, that's what it is. Where's your father?'
'I don't know.'
'Must have gone to Mr Nagabhushanam's, the guard, you know.'
'Let me go and tell him then,' said Chandru.
Nagabhushanam's house was the one after Mr Mannas'. As Chandru went past Mannas' house, Morris called out, 'What, man?' Chandru nodded as if to say. 'Coming in a moment' and stepped into Nagabhushanam's. A strong smell of frying onions greeted him.
Father and Mr Nagabhushanam were sitting together deep in conversation. For the past few months, Mr Nagabhushanam had been the guard on the Secunderabad-Bezwada Express. He saw Chandru and asked him, 'What is it, master? What brings you here with bare feet and bare head?'
Chandru ignored the teasing and looked at his father. Father signalled with his eyes: 'Just sit down.' So he sat down.
Mr Nagabhushanam continued from where he had stopped. 'We get these military people only from Dornakal station. But yesterday the soldiers got in one in every compartment, right from Kazipet. Four of them got into my van. There was no room for us to stand, sit or even get to the toilet. Worse, the train was two hours late in the morning when we managed to reach there and it was already daylight by then. The train was still moving when we heard these shots, they were fired from behind some trees a furlong away. The bushes near the rail tracks have all been cleared by now as you know, but this was from the jungle beyond. I didn't know whether to stop the train or let it go on. There was this Muslim soldier in my compartment who kept asking me to stop. But I had orders not to stop anywhere in the Indo-Hyderabad border area except for police checks. I was in a real predicament there.'
'What if someone had pulled the alarm chain?' Father asked.
'Not even then. Those were our instructions. Once the border checking was done, our next stop was at Bezwada—the three halts between have all been cancelled now. Twentysix miles more to the border, but this Muslim soldier started threatening me with his 'Stop, stop!' But the train halted anyway, even without a signal. I peeped out and knew why. Two soldiers had jumped down from the engine.'
'What then? What happened?'
'All the Nizam's soldiers jumped off the train, and some hefty Razakars with them. They screamed and shouted and took off in a mad run towards the shots.'
'Didn't the communists fire at the soldiers?'
'No,' said Nagabhushanam. 'Surprising, isn't it? I really don't know why they didn't shoot. Perhaps the sight of the army had put some fear into them. Anyway, it was these soldiers and Razakars who went on a rampage and ten minutes later came back with a few Lambadi tribals, two men and three women. And then—the whole thing is just too terrible for words.'
'Were they beaten up?'
'Beaten is not the word for it. They tore the men to pieces, hitting and spearing them with sticks and guns, rolling and kicking them as they died. The women went on screaming at the sight and they were also beaten up. And then,... in front of all of us...they tore off their clothes.'
'What!'
'Yes. The drawstrings of their skirts were not easy to untie. They just cut them with their knives. Then they started pawing at them and dragging them around, all naked and wounded...they kept driving them away but the poor women came back wailing to their men who now lay dead. It was unbearable...ghastly.'
Mr Nagabhushanam fell silent and sat staring ahead in a shocked daze. Father too sat petrified. And if Chandru was able to withstand the shock better, it was only because this was by no means the first time he was hearing about such happenings. For some time now, the Indo-Hyderabad border, especially the district of Warangal had been reeling under the conbined assault of Hyderabad's police and military forces. As part of their fight against communist guerillas, the land on either side of the railway tracks had been cleared of all cover for miles. Few communists were caught by these measures but the Lambadi tribes became the unfortunate victims. Lambadi women wore elaborately embroidered and mirror-studded skirts and blouses. Once worn, these clothes were not supposed to be changed at all till the funeral fire burnt them to ashes along with their bodies. A people with these customs and beliefs were now fleeing for their lives because of the Razakars and the Nizam's army. In normal times, these tribals were considered beneath notice and they generally went through life wallowing it together in sub-human conditions. But when they started helping the communists, they fell upon evil days. Saturn's bane had caught up with them too!
Chandru said softly to his father: 'The astrologer has come.'
'Wait a minute,' said Father.
The tension caused by the reminiscences eased a bit and Mr Nagabhushanam asked Father, 'Shall I come to the office today?'
'Why? Have you any special work there?'
'I've applied for a pass.'
'A pass for—?'
'My family of course.'
'To go where?'
'Madras.'
'You mean you've already got the police permit?'
'Can't I do without it?'
'Yes if you want to travel within Hyderabad State. Elsewhere no railway tickets or passes are issued without the police permit. You must know all that yourself.'
Mr Nagabhushanam was silent. The presence of four strong men in his house – his neph
ew, his two grown-up sons and himself – did not seem to reassure him much. He was bent on sending everyone out of Hyderabad. 'Still there's no harm trying,' he insisted.
'Well, I'll have a look at your application,' Father said. 'But even the English officers are a bit careful in these matters. The permit can be had from the Secunderabad court offices. You know the place, near the YMCA on Alexendra Road, not too far, you can go there yourself and collect it.'
'Let me see. What about you ? Aren't you sending your family out?'
'Where does one send them?' Father said. 'Madurai is a possibility, my sister lives there. But with just three months to go for the children's annual exams... I may send them after the exams.'
'You don't expect the exams to be held this year do you ? Schools lost many working days because of the riots. In colleges I understand the classes are half empty.'
Chandru felt unnerved. He had been avoiding all adults just because questions about college might come up.
'Anyway let's wait and see.' Chandru's father got up. 'See you then.'
'Good, master. I'll come to your office in the afternoon. Please try to issue that pass for me.'
'I'll try my best,' said Father. 'By the way, what about the other thing I asked you?'
'Sorry. I couldn't bring any this time. Next time, I'll try to bring at least ten seers.'
'But there's no rice at home, not a grain, friend.'
'I'll try next time, for sure. Please do something about my pass.'
Chandru followed his father out. It was getting late for Father. Just enough time to change into a formal dhoti, coat and cap and start for work. He could have his meal only at one in the afternoon when he came back from the office.
The astrologer stood when he saw Father. 'Oh, welcome. When did you come?' said Father.
'Sometime ago,' the astrologer said. 'I thought your son told you?'
'Have you had your bath yet?' asked Father.
'Yes. An early bath.'
'Then you can have something to eat. I'm late for the office. I'll see you in the afternoon.'
'It's not good,' the astrologer said, 'to go out without eating on an auspicious day like today, a Friday of the Tai month.'
'But I had to see someone about getting some rice,' said Father. 'It's all right. Go ahead and eat. I'll see you in the afternoon.'
Father hurried off to work and Chandru and the astrologer sat down to eat. Mother first served them cooked greens on their banana leaves and asked the astrologer if he minded eating maize rotis.
'Don't bother to ask,' said the astrologer. 'It's the same thing in every house these days.'
'The ration rice is hardly enough for two days,' Mother said. 'And then it's a red variety. And now for the past two weeks there's been no sugar at all.'
'It seems there's a famine all over the country. My nephew came over from Tiruvarur the day before yesterday. It appears things are no better there, to go by what he says.'
'But one needn't fear for one's life and limb in those places, that's something,' said Mother.
Chandru broke off a piece of the maize roti, scooped up a little of the cooked greens with it and ate it. In this princely state of the Nizam the only things available in plenty these days were greens, maize and peanut oil.
Whatever rice was available did not reach the ration shop. Wheat was being supplied for some time, but had been stopped now. Sugar may or may not be given once a month. Their coffee was sweetened with rock sugar now. As long as Indian troops were stationed at Bolaram it was possible to get some sugar from the military quota through some acquaintance in the army. It was now two months since the army had left. True, K.M. Munshi, the Indian representative, was there. He had a secretary who was a distant relative of Father's but how was one to ask him for sugar? By the way, this was the same K.M. Munshi, the astute lawyer who had defended the Tamil actors M.K. Tyagaraja Bhagavatar and N.S. Krishnan in the Lakshmikanthan murder case.
He was not able to do much for them, though. It was only after the appeal went to London that the two were finally released. So here was K.M. Munshi, now in the Nizam's State. He had been successful in preventing a confrontation between India and Hyderabad. But would he be able to save the Lambadis?
Mother served them a little rice, not enough really, but she spooned out generous quantities of curd to mix it with. When they had eaten and gone to wash their hands, the astrologer asked Chandru, 'Aren't you going to college?'
Chandru pretended not to have heard the question and offered him water from the bucket to wash. But the man didn't give up: 'You haven't gone to college today.'
'No.'
'Is it still closed?'
'No.'
'Reopened?'
'Yes'
'Then why haven't you gone?'
'I don't have any class today.'
'Is that possible?'
'Hm.'
Mother heard everything but desisted from intervening. Chandru left the astrologer and went to the buffalo-shed. The buffalo nodded a welcome. Chandru scratched its ear. The animal's enjoyment was evident in the appreciative quiver that passed through its frame. Chandru patted its back. The poor animal hadn't had a full feed for two days now. The store of dry grass had all been used up. For the past ten days, Chandru had been going to Monda every evening to fetch some grass for it on his bicycle. But you can't load much grass on a bicycle. Grass carts rarely came to Lancer Barracks these days. A carter did come the week before, but his price was too high and they had bought only a little. Thank heaven for the cotton seed and oil cake which were still available. But too much oilcake gave the buffalo diarrhea. Anyway oilcake did not satisfy it. It had to have grass.
Chandru went out through the back door and looked at the expanse of rough country that lay beyond the second line of Lancer Barracks and the quiet church and the bungalows, police officer Kasim's bungalow among them. Months had gone by since he went there last. Nobody came now to graze the buffalo. She stayed tied up all the time. If let loose now, she would take off at once and wouldn't stop till she reached the police officer's house. His garden was indeed the most luxuriant in the vicinity.
Chandru walked in the direction of the military cemetery. It was quite far but appeared rather near. Even the gate of the cemetery couldn't be opened any more, the whole place was overrun with weed and shrub. Here a few people long dead had become a part of this earth. Even the British had died. Even the British had left India. And now it was time for Hindus to leave Hyderabad. The British had no problem leaving India, but where could these people go? What would it be like if all the Hindus of Hyderabad went to India and all the Muslims of India came over to Hyderabad? What about the Anglo-Indians and Parsis? If the whole of Lancer Barracks was occupied only by Muslims, some sort of collective cooking would be possible in huge aluminium cauldrons. They could supplement it with the food made by the refugees. Only, the whole neighbourhood would suffocate with the stink. How could they eat meat when it smelt so foul? Mercilessly they killed all those trembling twitching goats here to celebrate Bakrid! Thanks to the Muslim household next door, he did know such details. Otherwise, all he would have known would be Nasir's cricket and Masood's silk sherwani. The Nizam who looked like dried and salted okra and the old women of Hyderabad who all looked like him. Then Pyari Begum, and that vision just descended from the clouds, Nasir's sister, with the tracery of blue-green veins on her fair neck, just like Nargis Taraporevala. Nargis too was beautiful, but her eyes spoke of experience. Somehow such eyes diminished beauty.
As he stood out in the open, Chandru suppressed a sigh. He found it possible to control himself these days even when a weeping fit seemed imminent. How long was he going to stay at home? The only times he went out these days was when he went to shop for vegetables once every three or four days or when he got the maize ground in the mill or fetched some grass for the buffalo. He had given up college altogether. Perhaps his name was off the rolls by now. Getting readmitted was not much of a problem in the colleges
here, but a year would be lost, this if the examinations did take place this time.
A fit of nostalgia seized him. Things connected with the college, plain ordinary things had acquired excitement now that he had ceased going there—the gate of the college, the peepal tree at the intersection of the three roads, the Salar Jung Hall, the science block, the playfields, the lecture halls of the Arts Section, that fan with the missing blade in one of them. He had once aimed a notebook at it while it was whirling at full speed. Fortunately there was no one else present to see the blade break off. These inanimate things apart, there were many living beings, humans he missed. He missed the known, familiar faces. He longed to see Miss Tara-porewala. He had little in common with her. She wasn't his caste or community, and she couldn't speak a word of Tamil, try as hard as she might. She wouldn't like any of his favourite food, just as he wouldn't like any of hers, Abdul Khadar Ice Cream being the sole exception. Yet his heart yearned for a look at her face.
The Eighteenth Parallel Page 13
