The Onus of Karma

by Rudra Krishna

  Rama had never done this before in his life. As his mind roamed freely now in a state of meditation, it chose to flash back to Periyavar and how he had been willing to teach Rama the science behind this particular exercise, but never allowed him to practise it.

  ‘You don’t need to,’ was his standard reply to Rama’s persistent requests to allow him to practise this asana. ‘When the time is appropriate, it will come to you. For now, it is enough that you learn to appreciate it.’

  So Rama had absorbed the science behind it. This is so unreal, he thought to himself, as he looked down at his own seemingly lifeless form on the ground. The dacoit slowed down, believing there was no life in the body he was belabouring. After a few more hesitant slashes, the dacoit put his head to Rama’s chest and listened hard for very long before, satisfied that his quarry was dead, he picking up his cudgel and leaving.

  Rama’s first instinct was to find out where his wife was. His son, he knew, was with his in-laws in a village a distance away, and would be safe, at least for now. He still had no idea whether the dacoit was out to hurt only him or his whole family. Suddenly, he felt his astral frame slowly descend towards his body. Trying hard to keep awake, he realized that he was losing control, and he couldn’t as yet, not until he knew that his wife was all right. Just as he felt himself completely pass out, he heard a man’s voice screaming out to him and then, with absolutely no choice in the matter, he passed on blissfully into oblivion.

  Rama awoke to the smells of a hospital. He could not open his eyes, and from the way he had cramped up, realized that he had been lying on his side. He opened his eyes slowly, expecting the dacoit to be standing by him, but instead saw his wife sitting on the floor with her head resting on the bed. His son was asleep on the chair next to her. With a sigh of contentment, Rama slipped back into sleep.

  It was perhaps a day later when he woke again; this time his wife was alone. ‘Where is Pattabhi?’ he mumbled.

  Sita’s head jerked up, surprised, and then widened into a big smile. For the first time in their marriage, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips and, before he could say anything, ran out of the room. This was the first time Rama’s wife had demonstrated her love for him. Perhaps he was to blame for her reticence; he had always devoted himself completely to his profession, at the expense of his marriage.

  His mind went back to their first night together. Rama had entered his bedroom several hours after his wife, who had been waiting for him while he sat with his friends, drinking. He then took off his expensive wedding finery and went to sleep.

  Rama didn’t hate his wife; rather, marriage had been a spur-of-the-moment decision for him. As he lay there convalescing, he let his thoughts wander, something he had not done in a long time.

  In his second year as constable in Kumbakonam, Rama met the love of his life on a warm Friday evening on Marina beach. The sun was sinking in the distance, and the sky had taken on shades of red and purple. As Rama rested on a towel with his eyes closed and his toes curled up in the warm sand, the scent of jasmine wafted to him. He looked up and saw a beautiful young flower-seller, with garlands wrapped in her hair and around her wrists.

  She saw Rama staring and asked, ‘Are you going to buy some flowers?’

  ‘Yes. Could you please give me an arm’s length?’

  ‘What are you getting these flowers for, Ayya, your pooja?’

  ‘No, I want to remember the sweet smell of your skin. What is your name?’

  The girl looked at him in silence for a moment. ‘Parvati. What’s yours?’

  ‘Rama.’

  She measured out the garland and handed it over to him. ‘One anna, please.’

  Rama reached into his pocket. ‘I have never seen you here before.’

  ‘I have seen you. You were sitting opposite the fort.’ She stood up, placed the basket at her hip and walked off.

  For a brief minute Rama admired the lovely form, then he jumped up and ran after her.

  ‘Will you sit and talk with me for a while if I buy all your flowers?’

  She turned to him and smiled. ‘You don’t need to buy them, just ask.’

  And thus began his first romance. They talked, became friends, and soon they were much more than friends. It was perfect, and the days flew by as their love grew.

  However, the relationship took wing under an ominous star. Rama almost never spoke about his family and this avoidance worried Parvati. Added to which, she was always conscious of the fact that he was a Brahmin and she was not.

  ‘When are we going to get married?’ she asked Rama one day, just as he had entered her bare, horizontal form.

  Rama was taken aback by the question. He still hadn’t seriously considered marriage, and half laughed as he replied, ‘Whenever you say. What do we do about it?’

  ‘Well, our families have to meet.’

  ‘I don’t have a family anymore, Parvati. But I will come over and meet your family this weekend.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps that would be best.’

  ‘Will your family accept me?’ he asked.

  ‘Definitely not at the beginning, but I’m sure you can convince them. You can convince anyone.’

  ‘But perhaps they would hate me anyway for being a policeman.’

  ‘My family has never had a problem with the law. They won’t hate you for that, though they might because you are a Brahmin.’

  ‘What’s so bad about that?’ Rama laughed.

  ‘Well, we are from a lower caste.’

  ‘Do you hate Brahmins?’ Rama asked anxiously, a little taken aback by the vehemence.

  ‘I used to. I am still not sure if I like all of them, but I do like you a lot,’ she replied with a saucy flick of her tongue.

  They spent the rest of the evening without argument.

  That Saturday, Rama rose early. He spent the whole morning tidying his home, preparing it for Parvati. He had decided: before the day ended, he would either convince Parvati’s parents to agree to the marriage or elope with her.

  He arrived at Parvati’s house in the afternoon. He knocked and waited, the longest thirty seconds of his life. An old lady opened the door.

  ‘Is Ayya in?’

  ‘Wait here,’ she said, and disappeared behind the door.

  She returned in a minute, with a man whom Rama presumed was Parvati’s father.

  Composing himself, Rama greeted the man, ‘Good afternoon, sir. I would like to speak with you for a moment.’

  ‘I know of you. You are the Brahmin policeman my Parvati has been seeing.’

  Rama and the older man locked eyes. Parvati’s father was almost a foot shorter and in his eyes, Rama could see hatred and fear.

  ‘Yes sir, I am. I would like to speak to you.’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you. We don’t like Brahmins or policemen.’

  ‘Ayya, please think about this, or you will cause two innocent people a lot of pain.’

  ‘I don’t need you to tell me what to think. I have made my decision and my daughter will abide by it. You may leave.’

  ‘Ayya, do you think it is fair to decide the rest of your daughter’s life on the basis of an arbitrary whim?’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that, Ayya. I suggest, again, that you leave.’

  ‘What about Parvati?’ Rama asked.

  ‘What about her? I know what is best for her. I’m her father; I will not stand by and watch her make a mistake when I can stop it. Now please leave.’ And he slammed the door shut.

  Rama was determined not to give up. He patrolled the area regularly for a fortnight, hoping to see her, but Parvati remained confined to her house.

  Finally, one day, he saw her leave with a group of friends carrying clothes and towels. He followed them discreetly to the river where the women quickly undressed and waded in. Parvati and two others climbed up a rock on the riverside, presumably to keep watch.

  Rama hesitated; he could not boldly approach a group of bathing women, but he realized that thi
s was probably the only opportunity he would get to talk to Parvati.

  The women squealed in alarm when they saw him step out into the clearing. Parvati climbed down from the rock and walked to Rama.

  ‘I am not here to cause any problems, Parvati. I just want to talk to you.’

  ‘Please go away!’

  ‘Why? What has changed between us?’

  ‘I’m getting married, Ayya. I should never have had anything to do with you when I knew how my family would react. I could never do anything to shame my father.’

  ‘Don’t you love me anymore?’

  Parvati shook her head sadly, her eyes downcast, ‘It was a mistake, Ayya.’

  ‘Stop calling me Ayya,’ he exploded. ‘I was your beloved the last time we spoke; my feelings have not changed since then.’

  ‘You must go. Please leave me alone.’

  Rama stood there, shocked. He had prepared himself for almost anything, but this was the one thing he hadn’t counted on. He steeled himself and looked at Parvati, ‘All the best, Parvati. I hope you will be happy.’ And he turned around and walked away.

  Lying in bed, Rama replayed scenes from the last three years of his life. He had spurned Sita’s advances, ignored her and his son in public. He never cared about how she fared as long as the household ran smoothly. In her silent acceptance of his ill treatment, he now saw a shameful reflection of his inadequacies as a partner, and he realized that he had to remedy all that.

  When Sita re-entered, she had their two-year-old son, Pattabhiraman, in her arms. As she gently put down the sleeping infant by Rama’s side, he caught her hand and kissed her on the wrist.

  For a second, Sita pulled back, surprised. She looked at him and saw in his eyes the apology he was unable to articulate.

  ‘Please rest,’ she said soothingly. ‘Don’t strain yourself now; we have forever to talk.’

  ‘What happened that day, Sita? Did that swine touch you?’

  ‘I had gone to the temple and then the market to pick up your favourite vegetables. I was going to make you something special that evening,’ she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

  ‘Don’t cry, Sita,’ he said, gently stroking her waist. ‘Everything will be all right. Don’t be upset.’

  The baby woke at the noise. Sita gently picked him up and rocked him, whispering softly into his ears. Pattabhi soon calmed down. ‘I’m upsetting Kanna. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry all the time. It has been so hard for me.’

  ‘I know, Sita, and I’m sorry for that. I’m going to make sure our life changes as soon as I get out of here.’

  An English doctor, followed by two of Rama’s constables, entered the room. He seemed pleased that his patient was awake and speaking to his wife. While the doctor examined him, Rama asked his constables, ‘Have you discovered where Arunachalamis?’

  ‘No, Ayya,’ one of them replied. ‘He has disappeared. All of us have been waiting for you to recover. The governor has announced another award for Arunachalam’s head.’

  With an exclamation of disgust, Rama flung himself back on his bed.

  ‘The doctor says that you have made a remarkable recovery,’ Sita consoled. ‘You were in a terrible state when you were brought in. It took the surgeons more than four hours to stitch you up. They put in about fifty stitches on your back and twenty on your chest. Your right elbow was broken too, but that’s healing now. The doctor has kept you mostly sedated all this time.’

  ‘How long has it been?’

  ‘Three weeks, but that isn’t important now. Please, just get well soon, and then we can leave this horrible town.’

  Rama was quiet. He understood her sentiments. To her, the town was a reminder of nothing but three years spent in a loveless marriage, and the constant fear of criminals. But he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to leave till he found Arunachalam. ‘All right, my love. Go home and get some sleep now, you look half dead!’

  Sita shyly kissed Rama one more time before balancing her little son on her hip and walking out of the room. She extinguished the bedside oil-lamp as she left, plunging the stuffy ward into darkness.

  three

  Rama recovered faster than anyone had expected. ‘Tharuppukal’ Ramaswami Aiyar became a legend in the Kumbakonam district. Tharuppukal, from the unusual blue diamond earrings he had worn since childhood.

  He resumed his duties within a week of leaving the hospital. He planted informers everywhere to see if he could discover Arunachalam’s whereabouts, but that failed to produce any immediate results.

  His marriage was transformed; it was wonderful. He even found himself leaving work early to be with his family. As his relationship with his wife slowly improved, he realized that he hardly knew her—he had let the memory of Parvati overshadow his life for much too long.

  However, peace in Kumbakonam, and in Rama’s life, was short-lived.

  It took Arunachalam just three months to gain control of the outskirts of the district and the highways once again. But this time he was not alone. He had joined forces with Selvam, a local criminal who had grown up in a troupe of travelling entertainers and was an expert with knives and swords. The man who made them a deadly trio was Veerapandi from the Ramanathapuram district in Madurai. Veerapandi was almost as famous for his skill with the axe as he was for his moustache. He had fought for Haider Ali at one time, but deserted the army and became a mercenary instead.

  Together, these three men began a reign of terror on the highways of Kumbakonam. They assiduously avoided the town itself, but this did not deceive Rama, for he knew they were only trying to lull him into a false sense of security. He doubled his work force, appointing more constables to monitor the roadways. But this made no difference to Arunachalam and his men. The last time they ambushed a patrol, they had gruesomely butchered every man.

  Rama was moving slowly, it was true, but only because he knew he couldn’t afford to fail. The British army had tried to help him but they had backed out when they lost a couple of men to Arunachalam. Rama had not expected any less from the East India Company: their motto was, ‘Take all you can and give back as little as possible’.

  From their past attacks Rama concluded Arunachalam and his men were hitting only those highways that touched the Cauvery river at some point. He realized they were getting around by boat, and got his best men to scout the hilly areas along the river.

  After four months of investigations, he narrowed down his search to one area, Thiruvaiyaru. The area was full of temples, ruins, caves and other hiding places along the river that ran through the district. He decided to search the district thoroughly. Although he had been trying to recruit more men to help him, no one wanted to have anything to do with the dacoits. Finally, Rama, with about forty men, set out on the imposing task.

  Even after eight days of scouring the area, Rama and his men found no trace of Arunachalam and his gang. The idea that the dacoits were getting around by the river still nagged him. The Cauvery was a massive river, over two furlongs wide in some places. He failed to understand how the dacoits moved so fast on the water. They certainly didn’t use sailboats—the wind was unreliable. He wondered if they had a steamboat, but immediately dismissed the idea. They just couldn’t afford it.

  Rama then began interrogating people who had establishments along the river. Though most disclaimed any knowledge of the dacoits, he realized that there was something they were not telling him, something they were frightened of. Next, he visited the little shops which sold liquor; it was likely that the dacoits had visited some of these vendors. However, neither the proprietors nor the customers seemed to know anything. Here, too, he got cryptic responses whenever he asked about any boats on the river, and try as he might, he never got any information that was worthwhile. That was, until he ran into Maheshwaran.

  Maheshwaran was an old drunk who spent most of his time at the toddy joints along the river and claimed to have seen Vasuki, the ten-headed snake, go down the river to listen to Ramanuja sing. Rama was
excited.

  ‘What did Vasuki look like?’ he asked, signalling his deputy to get them both drinks. Nageswaran returned a few minutes later bearing glasses of rice beer and a disapproving look on his face.

  ‘Aren’t you going to have some?’ the old man asked him. ‘Cheta makes brilliant rice beer!’

  Nageswaran snapped back, ‘I don’t drink! I’d rather not waste my body away with filthy habits like that!’ With a stony look at his boss, he turned and walked away.

  Maheshwaran smiled at Rama and asked, ‘How is it that you haven’t hung him yet?’

  ‘He’s not worth the rope,’ Rama replied lightly. ‘Besides, he’s one of the few fools that I can find to help me out right now! So you were saying?’ he asked, ignoring Nageswaran’s shocked expression.

  ‘He is a huge snake, I could see only his head above the water. Smoke billowed from his nostrils. It was such a terrifying sight that it almost made me sober!’

  This suggested that some sort of steamboat was being used. But where had the dacoit got the resources to put together such an elaborate contraption? After all, the man had been in prison all this while. He could not have done it without help from someone in a position of some power. The Madras harbour was a small place and the police would have definitely gotten wind of what was surely a massive operation. Rama had stumbled on to a conspiracy, he was sure of it.

  ‘I know you think I’m just a drunkard who sees things, but I know what I saw!’ the old man exclaimed defensively.

  ‘No, no, I do believe you,’ said Rama, snapping out of his reverie. ‘I was thinking about something else. Sorry.’

  Mollified, Maheshwaran continued, ‘I know he was thinking that,’ nodding towards Nageswaran. ‘That’s the problem with people. What gives them the right to judge others? You are a good man, Ayya. You treat everyone with respect, and you have always been fair and just. I tried to follow Vasuki, but he disappeared after Thiruvaiyaru. He just faded away.’

  ‘Thank you, Anna. I’ll be on my way now,’ Rama said, getting to his feet. ‘Oh, one more thing,’ he paused mid-stride. ‘Did you ever manage to see where Vasuki came from?’