THE STERADIAN TRAIL: BOOK #0 OF THE INFINITY CYCLE

by M. N. KRISH

  Lakshman took his eyes off the map and said with a sly wink, ‘Josh, why don’t we take some pictures?’

  Joshua gave a knowing nod and whipped out his digital camera. He shot a few pictures of the bedroom and then trained the focus on the map, trying a few angles to avoid the glare from the window.

  They whirled around the bedroom once again and came out to the living area.

  ‘Don’t they have any museum or memorial dedicated to Ramanujan in this town?’ Joshua asked Lakshman. ‘I mean some sort of place with all his stuff? There’s absolutely nothing here.’

  ‘Let me ask him,’ Lakshman said.

  Ranga Bashyam laughed when the question bounced back to him in translation. ‘I don’t know why you people are also talking like that young man, sir,’ he said. ‘This was the house Ramanujan used to live in before he moved to Madras. There’s nothing much here. The only thing you’ll find in this town is an old photo in Town High School where I used to work; no monument or memorial. But I’ve heard there is a small museum in Madras.’

  ‘Museum? In Madras? Really?’ Lakshman asked incredulously.

  ‘Yes sir, in Madras or Chennai or whatever you people like to call the city. I don’t know where but it’s there somewhere,’ Ranga Bashyam said. ‘I was laughing because you’ve come all the way here to look for a museum when it’s there right under your nose.’

  Lakshman still couldn’t believe it and it told on his face.

  ‘Why’re you so surprised?’ Ranga Bashyam said. ‘Even that fellow knew. It’s true, sometimes these foreigners know more about us than we ourselves do.’

  ‘You mean Jeffrey Williams knew about the Madras museum?’

  ‘Yes sir. He asked that fellow Narasimhan to ask me if there was any museum here in Kumbakonam. I told him there was nothing here but I’d heard there’s one in Chennai. He said they’d been there already.’

  Ranga Bashyam kept rambling on. But Lakshman didn’t pay much attention. He was busy whispering to Joshua: ‘Are you done here? I need to tell you something.’

  ‘Hey, don’t ask me,’ Joshua said. ‘You’re the one running the show here; I’m totally clueless. If you think we can go, we can go.’

  ‘Okay then,’ Lakshman said.

  They thanked Ranga Bashyam profusely and padded out of the house, their socks stained with dust under their feet. Ranga Bashyam locked the main door and invited them back to his house for snacks but they politely refused and let him go.

  They sat on the pial, put their shoes back on and adjourned to a quiet spot in front of a shuttered shop across the street. Lakshman filled in Joshua on the titbits of information he’d gleaned from Ranga Bashyam.

  ‘What! There’s a Ramanujan museum in Madras?’ Joshua said, taken aback.

  ‘Yeah, that seems to be our missing link here,’ Lakshman said.

  They stood in pensive silence for a while.

  ‘Want to go back to the city and look for it? See what Jeffrey was doing there?’ Lakshman asked.

  Joshua nodded. ‘What about that map? Make anything of it?’

  ‘Not really,’ Lakshman said. ‘It’s just an old map. I don’t see anything else in it.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Very old. At least a hundred years for sure.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘There was no boundary separating Pakistan or Bangladesh. Even Bengal didn’t look partitioned into two.’

  ‘Bengal got partitioned? When?’

  ‘In 1905 if my memory serves me right.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘You tell me, who made a job of partitioning countries all around the world and turned it into an art form?’

  ‘Oh, okay.’

  ‘So what do we do now? If we have an early lunch and catch a bus, we’ll be back in Madras by evening,’ Lakshman suggested.

  ‘And we can go to the museum after that?’ Joshua asked.

  But Lakshman had a different plan in mind. He wanted to try and catch the Titanic at the open-air theatre if possible. In any case, the museum would probably be closed by the time they got back.

  ‘Let’s wait till Monday. I don’t think they’ll be open tomorrow since it’s Sunday,’ Lakshman said. ‘We can see if Nancy emails us something in the meantime.’

  ‘All right,’ Joshua said.

  Lakshman was about to flag down an auto-rickshaw when Joshua stopped him.

  ‘Aren’t we going to the temple before we leave?’

  ‘We can if you want to, but which one?’ Lakshman said. ‘There are so many temples here; if you really want to do justice to them you’d have to plan in advance and camp out for a week with a proper itinerary.’

  ‘What about this one for a start?’ Joshua said, pointing at the towering gopuram of the Sri Sarangapani temple. ‘Isn’t this a very sacred Vishnu temple where Ramanujan used to worship every day?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lakshman said. ‘You think it could hold a clue for us somewhere?’

  ‘You never know, this is India,’ Joshua said, ‘but let’s first get our picture taken in front of the house. Would be a shame to go back without it.’

  42

  They boarded the bus midmorning and reached Madras in the evening. Joshua tagged along with Lakshman to the campus instead of going back to the Oceanic. He was itching to see if Nancy had emailed anything and Lakshman was left with no choice but to take him along. They had an early dinner at home and made for the department in Lakshman’s Fiat. However, it was Saturday evening during holidays and there was not a single student working there to help him get connected to his server. Not even Divya. On a hunch, he asked Lakshman to check his mail and see if Nancy had cc’ed him as he’d asked her.

  Lakshman logged in and opened his mailbox and there it

  was . . .

  Dear Josh,

  Please find attached the transcript of your interview with Mrs Ammal. I am getting the audio tape converted to MP3 and will upload it on Monday and let you know.

  Thanks,

  Regards,

  Nancy

  ‘Why don’t we print it out and have a look?’ Joshua suggested.

  ‘You mean, right now?’ Lakshman asked, looking at his watch. It was almost time for the Titanic. Being a long movie, they were going to start a bit early.

  ‘Yeah, right now,’ Joshua said.

  ‘I’m not sure if we’re going to get much from the transcript, Josh. I was the guy who wrote it.’

  ‘But it was so long ago. Why don’t we glance through it just once?’ Joshua said. ‘We can go for the movie right after.’

  ‘If you insist,’ Lakshman said, resigning himself to the inevitable.

  This wasn’t Joshua’s first brush with Ramanujan. Nor was it Lakshman’s. They were picking up the threads from where they’d left off back in the Eighties. The bittersweet story of Ramanujan’s excruciatingly short and yet stupendously productive life was an enduring inspiration to Joshua just as it was to many scientists and mathematicians all over the world. With his birth centenary in the offing, the mid-Eighties saw a remarkable surge of interest in Ramanujan among mathematics enthusiasts around the world. The centenary celebrations also brought into the limelight his widow Mrs Janaki Ammal who was living with her adopted son in Madras. She was approached for interviews by scribes as well as students and teachers interested in firsthand information about Ramanujan and in uncovering any unknown facets of his eventful life. Joshua too had visited her house in Triplicane during one of his trips to India and held a long interview with her. Lakshman had personally taken care of the arrangements and accompanied him during the meeting. Age was catching up with Janaki Ammal and her hearing too was failing. Though she had learnt English while living with her brother’s family in Bombay after Ramanujan’s death, Joshua’s accent made it harder for her and she found it easier to converse
in Tamil. So Lakshman’s presence proved very helpful for Joshua. He assumed the role of the interpreter and helped translate the audio-recording and bring out a transcript in English.

  They printed out two copies of the transcript and sat browsing through them in Lakshman’s office, the fan squeaking above and the dusk birds trilling on the trees. Joshua pored over it in detail but Lakshman skimmed through the sheets in parts, jumping back and forth.

  .

  .

  .

  We got married in 1909. I was ten years old. In those days girls used to be married when they were seven years old.

  .

  .

  .

  When he was studying only in school, he would be teaching college students in town.

  .

  .

  .

  His schoolteachers used to like him a lot. He would help his school headmaster with writing timetables.

  .

  .

  .

  Mathematics was his life-breath. He could never be seen without a slate and pencil in hand. He will be always working without food or sleep.

  .

  .

  .

  He was very fond of theru koothu (street play). He would go to watch the show wherever it was held, even if it was very late in the night.

  .

  .

  .

  Many people in Kumbakonam used to know him. Someone or the other would always come looking for him. If they ask him to give tuitions to children, he would help them. If they ask him how to go on a pilgrimage, he would help also.

  .

  .

  .

  He used to regret not taking me with him to England. After he came back with the disease, he would say that if I had been able to go and take care of him he would not have fallen sick. He used to say this again and again.

  .

  .

  .

  More people know about my husband now in foreign countries than in India. As his centenary is approaching, many people are doing research about his life. So many people are coming and seeing me.

  .

  .

  .

  In this country of sculptures and statues there is not a single statue of my husband. They were saying for years they would erect one. But it was the foreigners who finally made one and gave it to me.

  .

  .

  .

  We lived in Kumbakonam for many years. But Namakkal Namagiri Thayar (Vishnu’s consort Lakshmi in the Namakkal temple) is our family deity. He saw that Goddess in mathematics. Today children who are weak in mathematics are asked pray to that Goddess for blessings.

  .

  .

  .

  He used to say whether I live or die, my mathematics would feed you. It really happened. Many people are giving me a pension in his name.

  .

  .

  .

  Lakshman found it hard to believe that it was he who had done the translation: it was such a mediocre piece of work. He could see what the root cause of the problem was. Rather than producing a transcript of the tape first and then working off it for the translation, he had translated directly from the tape: play, pause, translate . . . play, pause, translate . . . play, pause, translate . . . This splintered, piecemeal approach had resulted in some rough edges and a certain lack of clarity and cohesion. It didn’t seem so bad at that time but he was positively embarrassed about it now. What was even more humiliating was to have Joshua reading it now right in front of him. He rolled up the sheets and said, ‘There’s not much in this, Josh.’

  ‘Okay then, let’s wait till we get the MP3. But any chance we can catch Divya in the meantime?’

  ‘Divya?’ Lakshman asked. But he instantly remembered how Joshua had already pencilled her in.

  ‘Yeah. She seems pretty good at picking up things that escape our eyes,’ Joshua said. ‘I’d like to run this transcript by her. She could also help download the Sulba Sutra paper from the server for you to read.’

  ‘Let’s call her and see,’ Lakshman said and picked up the phone.

  43

  A misty-eyed audience, many shrouded in shawls, sweaters and earmuffs, streamed out of the exits of the open-air theatre. But there were no tears in Divya’s eyes. Only rage. She pulled away from the crowd and made for the pinkish geodesic dome encasing the ticket counter like an igloo.

  Venus had made fun of the Titanic, but had finally been convinced to watch it since there was nothing else tempting playing in the city. Though he and Divya had arrived together, they didn’t end up watching the movie together. Some of Venus’s buddies had come for the movie and they were all abuzz with news of a guy in Mechanical who’d been offered a fellowship from Urbana Champagne a week after sending in his application. Venus excused himself from Divya to get the full scoop. ‘Just five minutes,’ he’d said and left. The show was now over and there was no sign of him yet.

  Divya was so angry, she’d wanted to pack up and go back home during the intermission itself, but had to change her mind when the screen suddenly lit up with a handwritten slide from Lakshman asking her to wait for him near the ticket booth after the movie.

  Her dupatta doubling up as a shawl, she stood near the dome and tried to work off her anger, now directed at both Venus and Lakshman.

  Lakshman arrived soon, Joshua in tow. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ he said.

  ‘Hello sir, good evening,’ Divya said, forcing a smile to her face with a lot of difficulty. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘Your mother told me,’ Lakshman said.

  ‘I’m surprised you’re still here, sir,’ Divya said to Joshua. ‘I thought you’d be back in Boston by now.’

  It was almost eleven o’clock on a Saturday night and Joshua knew this wasn’t right time to rake up the issue of Jeffrey. ‘This fine fellow here wouldn’t let me go unless I watched the Titanic in your open-air theatre. So I stayed back,’ he said. ‘But I’m not complaining. It was quite an interesting experience. I didn’t reckon so many people would show up for an old movie.’ Then shedding some of his levity, ‘But the movie’s not the only reason I’m here. We wanted to track you down as well.’

  ‘Me, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Are you going to be in the lab tomorrow by any chance?’

  ‘No sir . . .’ Divya said hesitantly. ‘I’m planning to go out with my parents . . . Why sir? Anything urgent?’

  Meenakshi had taken Divya’s forgetting to close the window and the sacking of the lab by the monkeys as a warning and decided not to delay things any further. Thanks to the timely help from Venus and a little contribution from Divya, she’d managed to achieve her target of 10,008 Sri Ramajayams. She’d strung them all together into a nice garland and made arrangements to go to the temple with the entire family tomorrow – Sunday, when even her husband would be available – and make that long overdue offering to Hanuman.

  ‘It’s not so much urgent as important,’ Joshua said. ‘Could you meet us on Monday then? Like I mentioned to you earlier, we may need your help with something.’

  ‘Sure sir. Monday won’t be a problem. What time, sir?’

  ‘Would afternoon work for you? Say, after lunch? One o’clock? Lakshman’s office?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Great,’ Joshua said. ‘You have a ride or should we drop you back home?’

  ‘Thanks sir, but I’m with a friend. We’ll go back together,’ Divya said. Provided he remembers I’m here.

  Lakshman, who had been fairly quiet, decided to pipe up. ‘Quick question for you,’ he said. ‘Well two. But I’ll go to the second one only if you get the first right.’

  ‘Yes sir?’ Divya said, slightly baffled. But she was always up for a challenge.

  Joshua too looke
d a bit bemused: What was going on in Lakshman’s mind so late in the day?

  ‘Here’s the first; if you don’t get this right, don’t bother coming down on Monday,’ Lakshman said with a mischievous smile.

  Joshua looked even more puzzled now.

  ‘Josh is put up at room M-729 at the Ocea-’ Lakshman started but Divya didn’t let him finish.

  ‘Is this anything to do with Ramanujan, sir?’ she said.

  It was a no-brainer for her. She was all too aware of the storied incident in Ramanujan’s life and replacing M with 1000 and adding it to 729 took her there in the blink of an eye.

  Ramanujan was recuperating in a hospital in Britain when his mentor, the illustrious British number theorist G.H. Hardy, paid him a visit. When Hardy mentioned that he had taken a taxicab with the number 1729 and it seemed like a rather dull number, Ramanujan was quick to disagree. 1729 was a very interesting number, he told Hardy. It was the smallest number that could be expressed as a sum of two cubes in two different ways: 103 + 93 and 123 + 13.

  Known as the Hardy-Ramanujan number, 1729 and the taxicab incident were now part of mathematical folklore. So it didn’t surprise Lakshman one bit that Divya – a Mathematical Olympian to boot – knew about it.

  But Joshua was knocked head over heels by Lakshman’s little puzzle. ‘Wow Lax,’ he said. ‘Now that you point it out, the whole thing sounds like some kind of an omen to me. The sign was there all along. Only I didn’t take notice.’

  ‘It just struck me ten minutes ago,’ Lakshman said.

  ‘There’s another sign as well, sir,’ Divya said.

  ‘Where?’ said Lakshman. It was his turn to be baffled now.

  ‘In your name, sir.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lakshman asked, screwing up his face.

  ‘Your name and Ramanujan’s name mean the same thing, sir.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Ramanujan comes from Rama plus anuja, sir. Anuja means younger brother. So Ramanujan literally means Rama’s younger brother, sir.’