by Benyamin
‘It’s sheer stupidity to go outside the novel and look for a character, or worry about what happened to him after the events of the novel.’ I stuck to my argument.
‘I’m not getting the point at all.’
‘Nibu, characters are created for the sake of the novel. So, even if they are real, there is no need to look out for them outside the text. The author is also not accountable for the expenses the characters incur!’ Anil said.
‘This is against human values. True fiction holds a mirror to life. I don’t agree that life is irrelevant outside fiction. Whatever be your opinion, I feel obliged to find out what happened to Andrapper afterwards. I am going to start my search from this very moment. Does anyone want to join me?’
Biju and Nattapranthan raised their hands.
‘The majority is still on the other side,’ I said.
‘This is not a decision to be taken by the majority. Even if I’m alone, it has to be done. For that, I don’t need the support of any author. I call it Operation Diego Garcia Part III, and I’ll start on it now. Not just that, it’s difficult for me to continue with a Thursday Market that thinks we can confine ourselves within the limitations of fiction. I don’t see life like that.’
Nibu walked out of the group. Biju and Nattapranthan followed him.
That was the last-ever Thursday Market.
An Email From Aravind
BENYAMIN, I’VE JUST finished reading your new novel. You can have your serious discussions of it with your writer colleagues and critics. My quick mail is to let you know my opinion on a very particular matter.
About the person called Senthil and the photos in his USB drive, I wish to come to a different conclusion. I don’t think he frequented pornography websites because he was a porn addict or had a sleazy curiosity about explicit images. I don’t know if you’re aware of it but such porn sites are the safest communication platform available now for terrorists across the world to transfer messages. They embed their secrets into the photos without anyone noticing anything. They can sit in any corner in the world and safely surf the sites and decode the secrets—in the pictures or in their captions. The information they decipher could be about what kind of weapons to use, which route to take, whom to contact, etc. Even if someone else stumbles upon these images and the messages they carry, he won’t be able to understand them.
This process of hiding messages in digital images, in audio and video files, is called steganography. Only if we scrutinize the audio files and video links of Senthil’s USB will we be able to find the hidden messages in them. I’ll do it for you someday when you visit. Please tell Salim and Biju to keep the drive safe with them.
And you keep writing novels. I’ll keep emailing you.
Aravind
Shanmughan
WHEN I FIRST met Shanmughan, he was creating a scene at the entrance of a hotel in Delhi. He was standing in front of me in a queue for security check. I was there to attend a literature festival. When the hotel security guard asked him something in Hindi, he started screaming back in English and Tamil. ‘You better talk to me in Tamil or English, don’t even utter a word of Hindi’—that was the meaning of his outburst. The security guard must have been stunned. He didn’t say a word.
As we went up to our rooms in the same lift, he was still fuming. ‘Why are they so hell-bent on teaching me Hindi? Let them learn Tamil!’ We reached the seventh floor, and lo, our rooms were adjacent. It was while opening the doors that we introduced ourselves to each other. When he heard that I was a writer, Shanmughan was full of respect. He had come to participate in an NRI global conclave. ‘We’ll meet later,’ I said and slipped into my room.
The journey had exhausted me, so I had dinner early and was lying on the bed when the bell rang. It was Shanmughan. He was a bit tipsy. I invited him into the room. He was from Malaysia where he managed a huge textile showroom. His family had settled there ages ago. He hadn’t forgotten his motherland. He had Person of Indian Origin status and visited Tamil-Nadu twice a year. His children attended a Tamil-medium school. It was his greatest desire to come back home someday.
He frequently quoted couplets from the Thirukkural. He believed that Thiruvalluvar was a greater poet that Valmiki, and Paranar a better one than Kalidasa. Not only did he love Sangam literature, he had a good knowledge of it. He knew well the classic texts, he knew all about thinai (he liked mullai the best) and preferred puram poems to those of akam.
I asked Shanmughan about the new generation of Tamil writers. He didn’t seem to know much. Let a greater poet than Thiruvalluvar be born in India, then let’s see—that was his opinion. According to Shanmughan, Tamil was the most ancient language in the world. The Cheras ruled the one true empire. And their capital city, Vanchi Muthur, was the centre of the world.
When I asked Shanmughan what was his ultimate desire in life, he blushed and named a famous actress. He wanted to spend a night with her. When I asked if that was the reason for his regular visits to India, he said that he had a bigger dream, but couldn’t talk about it. I tried to get it out of him, but he didn’t yield. I opened my bag and took out a bottle and two glasses. Shanmughan flattered me by praying to the bottle that it was his great luck to have a peg with a writer. He even kissed my hands. And after two rounds, more Thirukkural began to flow from his tongue.
When Shanmughan was in his element, I forced him to reveal his dream. He got up and briskly walked out to his room. I thought he wouldn’t return, but he did and spread out a roll of paper in front of me. It was an old map.
‘This is our dream!’
I didn’t get it at first. Then, when I studied it carefully, I understood that it showed the first Chera dynasty that had spread across the entire peninsula. ‘That ancient nation of the Cheras ought to be re-established. That’s our dream!’
‘Our dream? Whose dream is that?’
‘Tamizhaka Odukappatoor Viduthalai Izhakkam, a group started in the 1980s by a school teacher named Pulavar Kaliyaperumal. Former Naxalite Tamizharasan, Anpazhakan, etc. were part of it. At that point, its name was Tamil Nadu Liberation Army. In 2002, the Indian government banned the group. After that we split ourselves into various groups such as Tamilina Viduthalai Kazhagam, Vivasayangal Urpathiyalar Sangham, Tamil Desiya Penkal Viduthalai Izhakkam, Orumai Koruvar Orungamaippu, Tamil Nadu Ayyangar Peravai, Uthiyan Cheral Tamizhar Kazhagam and Tamizhaka Odukappatoor Viduthalai Izhakkam. If you inquire, you’ll find that each is a well-organized political, social, non-profit charity organization. But each organization’s aim is to unite the Tamils across the world and fight till we achieve victory.’
In the list, I had noticed the name ‘Uthiyan Cheral Tamil Kazhagam . . .! The Pondicherry one. The office Senthil had visited frequently. That means Senthil . . .?!
‘You think something like this will work out? In a country like India? It’s just a fantasy. Even after a hundred years of activism, you won’t be able to realize even the least bit of your dream.’ I bid him goodnight with a little ridicule and a lot of anger.
‘I’ll leave now, but we will fight till we attain victory!’ He left, reciting a classical poem.
I couldn’t sleep that night.
Leena
I RECEIVED AN email from an anonymous source proving that there was more to Andrapper’s life than we had discovered, and that there were more portions to the manuscript that had to be uncovered. This is how the mail read:
I was sitting on the terrace of my house when I saw a boat draw to a stop at the entrance. A young woman climbed up the stairs. I couldn’t recognize her. Assuming she was one of Chettathi’s friends, I went back to the novel that I was reading.
Momma called out after a while, ‘There’s a visitor for you!’
When I went down, I was stunned. Leena! Leena who sat next to me in the class photo. I had been searching for all my classmates and Leena had come in search of me.
‘How come you’re here?’
‘Why, can’t I come to see you?’
/> ‘Oh no, it’s not that. How did you find my house?’
‘You think it’s difficult to find the Andrapper House in Diego? Tell any boat driver and he’ll drop you here blindfolded.’
‘Where are you coming from?’
‘From City Hospital. I had gone to meet Anita. She told me that you’d be here.’
‘I see, what did she say?’
‘You’d gone to meet her once or twice, right?’
‘Yes, yes. About a case.’
‘About the murder that you mention in your novel?’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘Anita told me.’
‘Ah! I’d once showed her a portion of my manuscript. Our classmates appear in it.’
‘What have you written about Anita in that?’
‘What have I written? Why?’
‘Idiot. Should I tell you what you wrote? That she had grabbed your hand and had given you her children’s photograph. She told me nothing of that sort had happened. Anyway, she is not very happy with what you’ve written, okay? She also knows your intentions in going to meet her often. You should remember that she is a married woman. You are still a daydreamer!’
‘I’ve no such feelings. I just visited her about the murder and . . .’
‘Oh, as if I don’t know! We all knew! Anita, Supriya and I have laughed about it. Leave it, she never liked you. Never.’
It hurt me, but I recovered quickly. At that point it was not Anita who interested me, it was Leena. She seemed the same. She talked the same way she used to. There was no unfamiliarity. She was not affected by the long gap since we’d met. She chatted with me as if we had met the previous day. No wonder we called her ‘the advocate’.
‘Did you actually become an advocate?’ I asked.
‘Ha. Do I have to fulfil the dreams of my classmates? I did my higher studies in Cape Town. After that, Paris for a while. I’m now in Geneva, a small job in the UN.’
‘The UN?’
‘Yes, the United Nations.’
God, another surprise. Leena had blossomed beyond my imagination.
‘Actually, when I heard about the story of your novel, I, too, felt the same desire that you had—to meet our old classmates.’
‘I’m really happy that you came. And that you feel this way.’
‘Was Senthil really murdered?’
‘That’s the truth. But I don’t have any evidence to prove it. What can I do?’
Momma came with apple juice and biscuits, and sat down to chat with Leena. When she heard that Leena was a UN official, she was full of admiration.
‘Look at her. She was in your class. Look at where she is now! My dear, we told him to go to Paris, he didn’t listen to us. Instead he went to Thiruvananthapuram. Now he is writing a novel and roaming around like a loafer.’
After Momma left, Leena looked at me and smiled.
‘Sorry, Mommas are like that. They always want to see their sons rich. But I think you should never veer away from your writing. Some of our classmates have become doctors, some nurses, some businessmen, some high officials, some rich people. But I feel more respect for you than for any of them. That’s why I came to meet you even though I’ve very little time this trip.’
She got up to leave. I accompanied her to the stairs of the jetty. There was an official boat waiting for her. Before she got into it, she held my hand.
‘You’d written that Anita held on to your hand. Let her go. I’ve held you in real life. I hope that’s enough? Then again, I can’t gift you a photo of my children as I’m not married. So you’ve a chance,’ she laughed and patted me on my shoulder.
‘Our Senthil . . . he is not a story in a novel, he is a human rights issue. Can’t you do something?’ I asked.
‘I know. But I have limitations. You can at least protest through a novel. I don’t have that power.’
She boarded the boat. It created a few ripples in front of me and vanished from sight. When walking up the stairs, I opened my wallet. It still had the photograph of Anita’s children.
Affidavit
(RAJANBABU SENT THIS with the note: ‘I got it from the Public Security.’)
I have come to know from the Public Security department that a book has been published in Kerala titled The Diaries of Christy Andrapper. Christy Andrapper is my son. There is no evidence that it was actually written by my son. My family and I strongly suspect that the stories have been manufactured to malign the Andrapper family and Diego Garcia. In fact, this book has been published without the knowledge of and permission from any of us. Benyamin, in whose name it has been compiled, is not related to or acquainted with anyone in the Andrapper family. We have not given him the rights to publish such a book.
If such a book has brought disgrace to our Diego Garcia, its government or its sovereignty, as the mother of the author, I tender my sincere apology to this land.
I don’t believe this country or its government has any hand in the disappearance of my son. The Andrapper family believes that he might have voluntarily migrated abroad, or committed suicide. I hereby certify that he was clinically depressed since his childhood, and was unstable and liable to episodes of mania like his grandfather. I am writing this in sound mind, by my own hand and not under the influence of anything or anyone.
Jai Diego Garcia!
Sincerely,
Janet Maria Andrapper
News Report
MALAYALA MANORAMA 13 SEPTEMBER 2010
Major plantation companies in India and abroad are all set to invest in African countries. It is feared that the effects of climate change in countries such as India, Sri Lanka and Malaysia, and the dearth of labourers would result in huge losses to the sector in the coming years. This has been attributed as a reason for the companies’ latest move. Ghana, Ethiopia and Cameroon are the top three choices. Other than big firms such as Harrison Malayalam, Tata, Kannan Devan, Unilever and Manjusri Plantations, some individuals and Almaya forums of some Christian groups are also investors. These companies will set up estates of tea, rubber, sugar cane, cotton, coffee and coconut. Andrapper and Co., the multinational company known for its investments in the plantation sector, has already bought thousands of acres of land in Ethiopia and begun developing estates. Other companies will follow.
Meanwhile, in a press conference, Andrapper and Co. denied reports that the influx of plantation companies to Africa would be a threat to them. ‘We have an edge over the others because of our experience in setting up plantations in various countries and during different periods in history. The entry of other players in the sector is not a threat to us,’ Jeffrey Andrapper, the spokesperson of Andrapper and Co., told journalists in Addis Ababa. He added that the company had withdrawn all their investments in Diego Garcia and that their new headquarters would be Gore in Ethiopia.
Author’s Acknowledgements
Courtesy, love, thanks to—
Friends in reality and fiction: Anil Vengode, E.A. Salim, Sudhi Mashu, Nibu, Biju and Nattapranthan, aka Saju.
The friend who gave me the dope on Mariam Seva.
The essay titled ‘I, the Joan of Arc’ (Bhashaposhini, December 2005) by V.K. Sriraman, which had details about the Andrapper family history.
The websites that had a wealth of information about terrorist outfits; and the annual report of the Union Home Ministry.
The many Nasrani documents.
The residents of Udayamperoor. All those who love my words.
And to you, of course!
THE BEGINNING
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PENGUIN BOOKS
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First published in Malayalam as Manjaveyil Maranangal by DC Books, Kottayam, 2011
First published in English by Penguin Books India 2015
www.penguinbooksindia.com
Copyright © Benyamin 2015
Translation copyright © Sajeev Kumarapuram 2015
Cover design by Aparajita Ninan
Cover composed by Neeraj Nath
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-143-42089-7
This digital edition published in 2015.
e-ISBN: 978-9-352-14006-0
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