THE
JOURNEY
-
K.
Satchidanandan (India)
At least two years must have elapsed
since Nandagopan Master last undertook a train journey. Now, considering his
age, he was to go on a rather long journey from Thiruvananthapuram to Kannur.
Of his two daughters, Gouri was the surviving one and she used to visit him
along with her son Nishad at the weekends; sometimes accompanied by Ramanathan.
But this time it was her house-warming ceremony. She couldn’t possibly bring
the house to him though she had sent its photo. Her mother had passed away six
years ago and now he was the only one left on her side of the family.
He used to enjoy train journeys. It was
fun watching the sights, reading the names of the stations, alighting at places
where the train stopped for long and having tea or juice before running and
boarding the moving train. Now he was nearly blind in one eye and the vision of
the other was also dimming. The doctor had advised him to use glasses as soon
as cataract had been diagnosed. With each passing year, the lenses of his
spectacles increased in thickness. He also recollected that initially as his
hearing failed he was reluctant to admit it. His daughter had bought him a
hearing aid, one so tiny that it was unnoticeable. She was a model customer of
Amazon and was probably the first to buy many new products on it. He also saw
her returning some purchases. Anyway the fact that he could hear, even though
his vision was failing, was a relief to him in his ninety sixth year.
‘Master’, as Nandagopan was fondly
called, was a voracious reader. He had started reading not because of his job
as a Malayalam language teacher but
because he loved reading even as a child. Not that he did not have his
limitations or strengths. All strengths are after all weaknesses. For instance
he could not stand poems that were prosaic. He was surprised at poets who knew
how to rhyme and still wrote prose-poems. He had even asked directly about this
to a few poets. Some of them had only smiled while others had thought him
old-fashioned and frowned. To tell the truth, Master had not received a proper
answer to his question till date. Similar was the case of some who wrote
fantasies. Shouldn’t stories be based on reality? Writers like Thakazhi and
Dev, whose stories were realistic, were such wonderful writers! Also, Master
couldn’t tolerate misspelt words, probably remnants of his job as a language
teacher.
As he stood thinking of all these
things, Nandagopan noticed that the train had arrived. He felt as though it
stood at rather a height from the platform. Earlier it had not been so high up.
His legs refused to climb. He was saved from falling onto the track by the
kindness of a young man. He wondered if the young man knew grammar. Anyway he
knew the difference between youth and old age. That was good.
Nandagopan located his seat with
someone’s help and sat down. He had arrived at the station by an auto-rickshaw
but was tired probably because he hadn’t slept at noon. The train was to start
at forty five minutes past two in the afternoon. So, as soon as he sat down, he
dozed. And as it so often happens with dreams, he had a very muddled dream. His
recent dreams were usually of him wandering around. Usually in search of his
home or school or a class in the school or sometimes an office, and he went around
searching in circles. As a child, he used to dream of falling into a pond from
a hilltop or of coming face to face with a lone tusker and screaming as his
voice refused to leave his throat and so on. When Lakshmi was alive he used to
not be haunted by nightmares. Even if he had one and whimpered, she would pat
him on his back and it would fade away. But in the dream he had now, Lakshmi
reappeared. They sat together in the portico watching the rain. Behind them
their elder girl, Janakikutty, stood humming a popular film-song. At some point
of time the song stopped and she disappeared.
When he opened his eyes he found that
the train had arrived at Kollam. The vendor who was walking through the
compartment yelling “chayachaya” was
now looking at him with surprise and suspicion. As he stood up and moved
towards the washroom, he observed that he was walking without much difficulty
and his vision seemed to have improved. He washed his face and gaped on seeing
himself in the mirror: his grey hair seemed to have turned black in many parts!
Thinking that something might have rubbed off on his head when he sat, he
washed his hair. But the black persisted. The wrinkles on his face had
lessened. Had his dream not ended? He washed his face again and again and
looked in the mirror. Now he understood why the tea vendor had given him that
surprised look. As he stepped out of the washroom, a young man accosted him and
asked, “Aren’t you Nandagopan sir?” which in a way helped him to confirm his
identity to himself.
“Yes, how do you know me?”
“You had taught me in the eighth grade
at Kottarakara Government School. I was not a studious child. You might not
remember me. My name is Georgekutty. I live here in Kollam. I graduated in
Economics. Then for a year I was in Germany in connection with research. I do
write a bit under the pseudonym Kakanadan. My house is at Eravipuram.”
“Oh, Kakanadan! I have seen your
stories in Mathrubhumi. I liked some
of them. You write novels too, don’t you? I remember ‘Sakshi’. I haven’t read
much. I often don’t understand these new writers. That might be my fault. After
all, I grew up reading the old writers.”
“Sir, you have not aged a bit. You look
the same as when I last saw you,” he replied smilingly.
It was only when the conversation ended
that Nandagopan realised that he must have taught in Kottarakara at least
seventy two years ago! After that he had moved to different schools and in the
end had retired as Headmaster from a school in Thiruvananthapuram. Kakanadan
must have been fourteen then. He must be around seventy four now. But he didn’t
look that old. Something was wrong somewhere… . Anyway, Nandagopan went back to
his seat and sat down. Then he remembered that he had read somewhere that
Kakanadan had died! It must have been around ten years back. These days
Kakanadan’s stories did not appear in the weeklies.
The man who had been sitting next to
him till then had probably disembarked here at Kollam. There was another man in
his place. The train moved forward slowly. Nandagopan started feeling sleepy
again. Have I had the sleeping pill instead of my pressure medication, he
wondered. Both looked alike. This time his sleep was deeper. It felt as though
he was falling into a black hole. Had the train perchance lost its way and
fallen into one? Something like the Bermuda Triangle? When the train stopped at
Kayamkulam he was fast asleep. This time he dreamt of an even earlier period.
Lakshmi’s first delivery. He impatiently strode up and down the hospital
corridor. Many people came and went. People he had met at different places.
Some students. Some classmates. The delivery had been at the hospital at
Kottarakara but in his dream it was at the Ernakulam District Hospital and a
neighbour was the doctor!
When he woke, a man who got in from
Mavelikara was listening to the news on a transistor radio. “Prime Minister
Indira Gandhi has been shot dead. Her security guards have been arrested.”
“Indira Gandhi!” Nandagopan asked himself, “Wasn’t that thirty seven years ago?
Why is that being announced on the radio today?” Where was he? Was he still
asleep? No, he could see people outside the train.
The strange events continued. In
Chengannur, at an intersection near the railway station, a meeting was on,
condoling the demise of Nehru. He had passed away in 1964 but the speaker was
referring to the event as though it was a recent happening. Master listened to
the speech for the ten minutes the train was at the station. The Five Year
Plans, Nehru’s policy on Non-Alignment, the institutions that he had planned …
so went the speech.
It was four forty five in the evening
when the train arrived at Thiruvalla. It was teatime. A new tea vendor
appeared. Nandagopan bought tea and took out his purse to pay the man. The man
said: two annas. Annas? Nandagopan extended a ten rupee coin. The man looked at it,
“What currency is this? Is this from Dubai? Don’t you have Indian currency on
you? Pay me when I return from my round.” So saying he returned the coin and
left. Nandagopan was upset. What would he do when the man returned? Seeing his
anxiety the man seated beside him extended a two anna coin and said, “Sir, you know me. Son of Ramakrishnan master.
Sivadasan.” Nandagopan looked at the old coin confusedly. Two annas. The year on it read 1954. The naya paisa had been issued in nineteen
fifty seven. He remembered that very well. He had been thirty seven years old
then. Master started feeling dizzy.
Nandagopan was aware of the train
leaving Kottayam. He wanted a cup of tea but thinking of the past event he
decided against it. He was afraid to look at himself in the mirror. At the same
time anxious too. He noticed some young women looking at him. They seemed to be
younger than his daughter. Their approach, however, seemed to be that towards a
young man. As a young man in college and later after doing his B.Ed. when he
joined the school, he recollected that he had been thought of as attractive.
Many had approached him. His literary inclination, reading and classes had all
been reasons for this. However, it was Lakshmi for whom he had fallen. She used
to come often, to the small house where he stayed alone, to borrow books. One
day she returned Basheer’s “Premalekhanam” and in it there was a letter - one
overflowing with love. Then maybe because she was afraid, she was absent for a
few days. Later, in the staff room he asked, “Have you stopped reading,
Lakshmi?” and saw her cheeks redden. That evening she had come home.
Hesitatingly she said, “I had kept a paper in the book.” “Is it right to write
love letters to your teachers?” he had only asked when she burst into tears.
Master wiped her tears away. When he consoled her saying, “It’s okay”, she
looked at him meaningfully. “Really? Do you like me?” “Umm”, he replied without
letting go of his serious-teacher expression. She felt shy and ran away. That
was the start of their romance which seemed straight out of the love stories
and novels of those times. There were no obstacles at their respective homes
and so their marriage took place. Soon enough she became a responsible wife and
mother. As he had lived alone for a long time, Nandagopan was a good cook.
After marriage, they cooked together. They did not have the income to hire a
domestic help. When she had spare time she grew flowers. It had started as a hobby
but soon developed into a business as a nursery. His large circle of
acquaintances helped the business to grow. In the meantime, Lakshmi studied and
acquired a degree. Then their daughter, Janakikutty was born and Lakshmi
decided not to try for a job. The nursery continued to flourish for some time.
Then Janakikutty’s accidental death devastated her. Without showing his anguish
he consoled her. Lakshmi stopped sleeping. She had to be given treatment for
depression. She stopped reading. Sleeping pills became a habit. It was only
after Gouri was born that there was some relief.
Nandagopan was woken from his reverie
by some young men who were trying to make conversation. He saw that the one
near him was immersed in Thakazhi’s “Chemmeen” which he had read years ago.
“Isn’t this an old book!” he blurted out. The young man looked hurt. “Old? It’s
only a week since this has been published!” Saying this, he showed the title
page to Nandagopan. The year on it was 1956. Master felt confused and anxious.
He looked at the Mathrubhumi Weekly
being read by another young man near him. The magazine with the cover picture
of a Kathakali figure also showed the year 1956! It was dated 65 years ago!
Master took out his mobile to verify
the date. It was then that he noticed everyone staring at him and his mobile.
It was clear that they hadn’t seen anything like that before. He wanted to call
Gouri but felt afraid. How would he convey all this to her? The date in the
mobile was 1956 November 20. Thursday. The date and the day were correct but
the year was not. Suddenly the phone rang. “Father.” A familiar voice. Master
was startled. It was his daughter, Janakikutty! He felt like weeping and felt
confused at the same time. “Mole,
where are you?” Nandagopan asked, steadying himself. He could hear her crying.
He looked around. Everyone was staring at him wonderstruck. One of them
courageously asked, “How are you able to talk on this? It doesn’t have a wire.”
Nandagopan did not understand. “This is a Samsung mobile phone”, he said.
“Mobile phone?” The man took it from him and examined it closely. Men gathered
around Nandagopan. “You must have ordered it from abroad, right?” they asked.
“No. I bought it from Thiruvananthapuram.” “From Thiruvananthapuram?” they
asked, laughing at him.
Sitting there, he didn’t have the guts
to call Gouri. He went to the corridor and called her. “Acha!” her voice was trembling, “I called you so many times but
didn’t get you. I was getting worried.” “I fell asleep, Mole,” he replied. “The train just left Kottayam.” He didn’t say
anything else. He did not understand what was happening - how was he to convey
this to someone else - even if it was his own daughter?
Things were getting stranger by the
minute. Nandagopan was afraid to go to the washroom. He didn’t want to look at
himself in the mirror. The ticket examiner came and asked Nandagopan for his
ticket. He took the ticket and asked, “Is this a joke? The date on this is 20
November 2021. You are a bit early, aren’t you? Precisely 71 years early. ”
“Sir, my daughter booked this for me on the net and sent it. You can see the
booking date on it,” he stammered. Nandagopan grew aware of the ticket examiner
and the other travelers staring at him as though he was an extraterrestrial.
“The net? Are you a fisherman? Or a badminton player?” Everyone roared with
laughter. “I don’t want these fancy stories. You will have to pay double the
fare as fine.” Nandagopan had no way out. But the amount mentioned was only a
small part of the money he had actually paid. Recollecting the hullabaloo that
had occurred when he had last given money, this time he offered his credit card
for payment. The official became furious. “Is this money?” he thundered. Master
searched his purse, found a fifty rupees note and extended it to the man adding
in a low tone, “Please keep the change.” “A currency note for Rupees Fifty! I’m
going to hand you over to the police” the strict official threatened. A man
near him came to his rescue. “Sir, this young man does not seem to be a
troublesome person. Maybe he is not feeling alright. I will pay for him.” So
saying, he paid the required amount to the official. He used the one rupee and
two rupee notes that Nandagopan was familiar with in his youth!
What was actually happening? Nandagopan
scratched his head. He found that his head was covered with thick hair. Just
then his phone rang again. He felt scared to answer it. With trembling hands he
picked it up and asked “Who is this?” “Can you not recognise my voice, Master?
I’m Lakshmi. I told my parents about us. My parents have high regard for you.
They have agreed to our marriage and will fix a date for it soon. When are you
coming to ask for my hand?” Yes. it was indeed Lakshmi. Her sweet voice was the
one he loved most on this earth. And that tinkling laugh of hers. Nandagopan
broke into a sweat. Switching off the phone he deposited
it in his pocket. Yet he seemed to hear the tinkling laugh.
Thinking of the number of stations left
to be covered, he felt worried. He looked at his watch and found that it had
stopped. Only after Thrissur, Shornur, Tirur, Kozhikode, Vadakara, Thalassery
would Kannur arrive. If there were no delays he would reach there at twenty
minutes past twelve at night. He thought of having dinner from Shornur but
wondered what to do as nobody was accepting the money or the card that he
offered. He decided not to have dinner. He had some bananas and biscuits in his
bag and decided to make do with that. He did not realise that the train had
arrived at Thrissur. A man who got in from there had a copy of Basheer’s
“Balyakalasakhi”. It seemed to be an early edition. He had read it when he was
in love with Lakshmi. In his twenty second year. It had been first published
when he was nineteen and by the time he got around to reading it, many editions of it were out. Nandagopan fell
into a brown study. In those years of romance, he knew Basheer’s
“Premalekhanam” by heart. He thought of his smart students of yesteryears. He
was the one who used to get the books in the Malayalam Literature section of
the school library. Maybe that was the reason why he knew the year in which many
books were published. Nandagopan was probably one of the earliest to read
Uroob’s “Sundarikalum Sundaranmarum”. He
had written an article about it in the local newspaper in the year in which the
book was published -1958. M. T. Vasudevan Nair’s “Naalukkettu” had also been
published in that year. He had mentioned it too in the article. He had also
mentioned “Chemmeen” which had been published two years before. He had written
the article under a pseudonym, Nandita Gopalan, as he didn’t want to waste time
getting into arguments related to it.
The time was half past eight when the
train arrived at Shornur Junction. It was slightly late. The walls of the
station were covered with pictures of E.M.S. There were also posters in red
letters proclaiming “The E.M.S. ministry has been sworn in”. They seemed to be
recent. He remembered that day. The roads had been lined with red flags. April
5, 1957. He had felt a little happy. At least the ministers were mostly
educated people like Krishna Aiyyar, Mundasseri and A.R. Menon. Nandagopan felt
hungry and ate an apple and a banana and decided that this was his dinner.
At Tirur station, a boy was selling the
evening newspaper. “Changamppuzha Krishna Pillai is no more! Read the evening
news for a quarter anna!” he cried
out as he ran along the platform. Many bought the paper. Nandagopan too bought
one out of curiosity. The first thing he looked at was the date. June 17, 1948.
He felt as though he was sick again. In 1945 he was twenty-three years old. He
remembered that day. For a person who had learnt “Ramanan” by rote, it would
have been impossible not to. It had been a week of mourning for literate
Kerala. The newspaper had the picture of the handsome Changamppuzha, lines from
a few of his poems and the famous prologue to “Ramanan” and an incomplete list
of his work. When the train moved forward, Nandagopan noticed a moving
procession of silent mourners wearing khadi and black badges. A man at its
front held a garlanded photo of Gandhi. Some of them held posters declaring “Gandhiji
ki jai”, “Quickly arrest Gandhi’s killer”. Nandagopanrealised that the distance
from June to January was only a few kilometres! He also noticed one more thing:
there were no big buildings on the way! When he had travelled three years ago
on this route, he had noticed a large number of big shops, supermarkets and
hotels. Now, the stations seemed to be more ancient. Many of the passengers
were shirtless.
This time in his dream he saw the
festival celebrations in his village. In the crowd, he had got separated from
his parents and couldn’t find them. As he was crying and searching for them, an
elephant came running at him…Nandagopan woke on hearing a commotion. It wasn’t
the dream. The train had arrived at Kozhikode. A boy was crying out “
‘Ramanan’! ‘Ramanan’! Four annas only!”
hawking the book. He held a number of copies to his chest as he moved around.
Many were buying the book, especially women. He sold out all the copies when he
reached a compartment carrying soldiers. It appeared that the book was fresh
off the press. When had “Ramanan” been published? Nandagopan tried to
recollect. His sharp mind soon had the answer:1936. He even remembered the
dedication. He had learnt it for an occasion while studying in the sixth grade.
People were boarding and disembarking
at the station. A man came and sat next to him, then asked “Where are you
going, child? Are you alone?” Nandagopandidn’t know what to say. He looked
around but there were no children in sight. As he didn’t reply, the
conversation came to a stop. The man must have thought that he was a mute.
There were two more hours for his journey to end. Nandagopan tried to sleep but
he was filled with a nameless dread. People went out and came in at Vadakara
and Thalassery but Nandagopan was too afraid to talk to anyone. He wanted to
drink water but realised that he seemed to have shrunk!
At last the train arrived at Kannur. As
it was midnight, there was hardly anyone at the station. He found it difficult
to collect his suitcase so someone helped bring it down and carried it to the
door. Gouri was standing observing those alighting from the train. Nishad must
be asleep. He didn’t like it that his daughter had left the child alone at home
and come to pick him up from the station. Why was Gouri not looking at him?
“Gouri, I am here”, Nandagopan called out. But his voice froze in his throat.
Gouri ran searching on the platform calling out, “Father, father… .” The
station lights seemed to flare like will o’the wisps towards Nandagopan,
misleading him. The train appeared to him like a procession of elephants. His
cry remained choked in his throat like a sugarcane piece, bought from the
temple festival grounds, from which all the juice had been sucked dry.
-
(Translated
from Malayalam by Vineetha Mekkoth)
****