The House of Blue Mangoes (35 page)

One evening, Ramdoss, Santosham and Daniel got into the Oldsmobile and drove to town. As they passed the hockey ground, Daniel noticed a blazing fire near the far goalposts. A large group of schoolboys stood around it in their underwear. Astonished by the sight, Daniel ordered the car to be stopped and sent Santosham off to investigate.

The contractor returned with a boy. The lad, though somewhat awed at finding himself in the presence of Daniel, confidently responded to his questions. They’d refused to attend school, he said, and had made a bonfire of their clothes, in response to an appeal by Gandhi-thatha.

‘What’s this all about?’ Daniel asked Ramdoss. ‘His latest initiative, anna. It’s called the Non-Co-operation Movement,’ Ramdoss replied. After Aaron’s death, Daniel’s antipathy towards politics had deepened so profoundly that he refused even to read the newspapers. He relied on Ramdoss to keep him informed. And though Gandhi’s presence had by now grown so pervasive that even Daniel had heard of him, he had little knowledge of the Non-Co-operation Movement. Ramdoss quickly filled him in. Gandhi had promised to free the country of British rule within a year, and had called on his countrymen to stop co-operating with the British. Students were to leave schools and colleges, and lawyers were to boycott law courts. Foreign clothes were to be burned and toddy stops picketed.

‘And he expects this to happen?’ Daniel asked dubiously.

‘It’s already happening, anna, this boy is an example right before your eyes.’

‘Do you know why you are doing this?’ Daniel asked the boy sternly.

‘We have to boycott school and foreign garments, aiyah,’ the boy answered stubbornly.

‘You and your friends will return to school immediately,’ Daniel ordered. ‘Without education you will all become loafers.’

Without waiting to see if his instructions were carried out, he got back in the car with Ramdoss and Santosham and ordered the driver to proceed. ‘Must report this to the tahsildar,’ he said irritably. ‘This is an outrage and I hope Narasimhan can do something.’

P. K. Narasimhan, the tahsildar, was someone Daniel had a lot of time for. Born into a family of Tanjore scholars, Narasimhan had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the classics as well as of current events. He could always be relied upon to provide a stimulating discussion. He had been helpful and efficient when Daniel had begun establishing the colony, and he had come to enjoy his visits to the tahsildar’s office. This time, however, when Daniel demanded he do something about the truants, he said he was helpless. He spoke in English, which he was apt to break into from time to time, especially when he needed to think and formulate his thoughts carefully. Daniel had initially found this disconcerting, but in time he had grown used to it.

‘Government’s orders are not to do anything,’ Narasimhan said. ‘We don’t want to be repressive, especially after Dyer’s outrage in Jallianwala Bagh and the Punjab troubles.’

‘But Punjab is at the other end of the universe,’ Daniel countered. ‘Why can’t we keep our boys in school?’

‘Anna, Meenakshikoil isn’t the only place that’s affected. The whole country is in a ferment,’ Ramdoss said. ‘It’s not just a couple of issues they are protesting against. None of the Crown’s recent measures, the Rowlatt Act, the Hunter Committee recommendations, nothing seems to have gone down well . . .’

‘I’m afraid that’s true,’ the tahsildar said. ‘Our latest reports say that over ninety thousand students have left their schools and colleges, there are bonfires of foreign cloth on every street. There is no way in which we can stop this thing. All we can hope for is that it will die down of its own accord.’

‘But, according to Ramdoss, Gandhi wants your masters out in a year,’ Daniel said.

‘So he says,’ the tahsildar said with a sigh, ‘but not even Mr Gandhi always gets what he wants.’ He continued, ‘I think you’ll find Mr Gandhi’s methods very interesting.’

‘Oh,’ Daniel said.

‘If you have some time, I’d be very pleased to discuss them over coffee.’

Daniel nodded. Santosham went off to do the paperwork that had brought them to the tahsildar’s office, while Ramdoss and Daniel settled into the hard wooden chairs. Narasimhan rang for coffee, then asked: ‘Do you know the story of my namesake in the
Bhagavatam
?’

Daniel knew the tale vaguely, although he didn’t know what it had to do with Gandhi. But he had time on his hands and the tahsildar always told a good story. ‘He’s one of Lord Vishnu’s avatars, isn’t he?’

‘Very good, sir,’ the tahsildar said. ‘He is indeed, and this is how he came to be.’

The ill-starred Hiranyakashipu, the tahsildar began, was a man of more than ordinary ambition. He wanted to be unquestioned Lord of the three worlds, invincible in battle, but most of all he craved immortality. In order to realize his goals, he performed years of extraordinary penance to Lord Brahma. Anthills and weeds grew and covered him from view as he sat lost in meditation on the Mandara mountain. He was so devoted and single-minded in his penance that Brahma had little option but to grant him anything he wanted. Hiranyakashipu wanted only one boon: the gift of immortality. The creator of the three worlds said it was not within his powers to grant him his request because he himself was not immortal, but he could certainly grant him immunity from virtually anything that could ordinarily cause him harm.

Hiranyakashipu tried to think of every contingency, the tahsildar said. He paused as the peon handed around the coffee. Once everyone was served he continued his story.

Hiranyakashipu asked that none of the creations of Lord Brahma be the death of him, neither weapon, nor man, nor animal, nor any living or non-living thing. Brahma agreed. Hiranyakashipu went into greater detail, trying to think of every possible danger that might threaten him. He asked to be protected from Gods, demons and every form of disease. The request was granted. He said that he should not die inside his house nor outside, neither during the day nor during the night, neither on the earth nor in the sky. Brahma acceded to all this as well. Finally, his steadfast devotee asked to be ruler of the universe, with a fortune that would never diminish. To this, too, Brahma consented and then he disappeared from the Mandara mountain.

The ages passed and everything that Brahma had bestowed upon Hiranyakashipu ensured that he became the unquestioned ruler of the three worlds. Unfortunately for his subjects, his ambition was matched only by his tyranny. Gods, demons and ordinary mortals prayed to Lord Vishnu to rid them of the monster.

Hiranyakashipu had one thorn in his side, the tahsildar said: his son Prahlada who, to his father’s consternation, was an unflinching devotee of Lord Vishnu, the only God the tyrant feared. Hiranyakashipu had tried every form of persuasion to deflect his son from his steadfast devotion, all to no avail. He had then tried to kill him. Wild elephants were made to trample him underfoot, cobras, kraits and vipers were set upon him, he was thrown off cliffs and buried alive, he was poisoned and set alight. He survived every frenzied attempt to do him in, further incensing his father. Finally, Hiranyakashipu decided to kill him with his own hands.

One day he was haranguing his son as usual. Prahlada refused to bend. To a question from his father, he said Lord Vishnu was everywhere. The furious Hiranyakashipu pointed to a pillar in his council hall and asked whether it contained the Lord. His son calmly said that it did. ‘Very well then,’ the tyrant said, ‘I’m going to kill you now. Let your Lord come out of the pillar and save you.’

So saying, he advanced upon his son with a drawn sword. The pillar cracked with a thunderous sound, and an astonishing being blocked the path of the enraged tyrant. It had the head and powerfully muscled torso of a lion, but from the waist down its form was human.

Hiranyakashipu looked into the terrible eyes of the apparition and realized his hour was upon him. But he was not a coward. Raising his sword he attacked the man-lion. His puny challenge was brushed aside, and he was picked up and carried to the threshold of the palace. He was neither outside his house nor inside it. It was dusk, neither day nor night. He was in the clutches of a creature that was neither beast nor man. He was caught up in its grip and was therefore neither on the earth nor in the sky. The man-lion was certainly not a creature of Brahma and the only weapons it was about to use were its own claws and teeth. As his entrails were ripped out of him, Hiranyakashipu understood that no one could be mightier than the Lord.

‘That was exceedingly well told, Narasimhan,’ Daniel said. ‘But what does it have to do with Gandhi?’

‘The ingenuity, sir, the ingenuity,’ the tahsildar said. ‘Faced with an astonishingly complex problem, the Lord came up with a solution that was intricate, unusual and supremely effective. And that’s what Mr Gandhi is doing, and it’s driving Government crazy.’

‘You sound as though you admire the man, Narasimhan.’

‘No, his methods. I don’t think Government has ever faced a bigger threat than this. Mr Gandhi seems to have a deep, almost mystical, grasp of what it takes to weld our fractious countrymen into an effective fighting unit.’

‘Do you think he might overthrow British rule?’ Daniel asked quietly.

‘I cannot answer that question, sir,’ the tahsildar said. They sipped their coffee in silence. After a while, Narasimhan said, ‘But what I must repeat is that never have I seen a more serious threat to the Government than the one Mr Gandhi has mounted. He meets violence with non-violence, deception with truth, our efforts to suppress him with non-co-operation. What do we do with such a man except wait and hope he makes a mistake?’

‘I wish you luck with him, Narasimhan,’ Daniel said, getting up to leave. ‘But get those students back to school. If Gandhi does succeed in kicking the British out he’ll need educated men and women to run the country.’

‘Oh, I don’t think the British will leave in a hurry, sir. They’ll find an answer to Mr Gandhi yet.’

‘Perhaps you’re right, Narasimhan, but I have no time to worry about that, I have a colony to build. And if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it is that it will have no politics to disrupt its working.’

After a year or so of the Non-Co-operation Movement, Government began to get tough with the protesters, especially as the future King of England had decided to tour India. His visit was greeted with demonstrations and black flags as the Indian masses voiced their displeasure. None of this had the slightest effect on Chevathar, where Daniel’s total ban on any form of political engagement ensured that work on his mansion proceeded smoothly. Working from dawn to dusk in three shifts, Brown and Santosham finally completed their mammoth project, only two months behind schedule. The house was a curious hybrid, but it worked. Seen from above, it resembled nothing so much as a giant palmyra-leaf fan, its fifty-eight rooms radiating backwards in a wavy cone from the
porte-cochère
. The walls were coated with a mixture of eggshell lime, river sand, milk and fermented kadukka-and-jaggery water – the famous Madras-mirror finish – so that they gleamed like polished marble. Surrounding the house were groves of blue mango trees.

The house was inaugurated with due pomp and ceremony. After a brief thanksgiving service in the new church that had risen on the ruins of the old, the congregation moved to the mansion. The new priest intoned a blessing and Daniel made a short speech. ‘I regret that we couldn’t move here on my brother’s birth anniversary because it was he who finally made up my mind about returning to Chevathar. But I know Aaron will forgive us for being slightly late, for this magnificent mansion has been worth the wait.’ He paused and sought out Brown and Santosham and congratulated them publicly on their masterpiece. Then he said, ‘The naming of anything we hold important has to be done with care. This house represents the fruit of years of toil by my family. I’ve spent months now trying to find a name that would aptly represent our hopes and aspirations, and more importantly capture the essence of this place. Finally, after much time spent in thought and prayer, I’ve come up with the name I think most appropriate, a name that honours the memory of our revered ancestors and this place from which we have sprung. Brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, members of my esteemed family, it is with great satisfaction that I formally announce that this house will be called, from this time onwards, the House of Blue Mangoes, Neelam Illum.’

55

The new settlement sprawled for miles by the Chevathar and provided a striking contrast to the existing village, more than half of which it had swallowed. Instead of twisty straggling paths it possessed ruler-straight avenues of beaten red earth, lined with ashoka, jacaranda, gulmohar and rain trees. The roads were neatly signposted: Solomon Avenue, Aaron Crossroads, Ashworth Lane. Some landmarks were carefully preserved. Daniel had a grove of trees planted around the well Aaron had jumped, both to beautify it and to ensure that nobody ever attempted it again. The Murugan and Amman temples remained, but the acacia forest was cleared to make way for elegant farmhouses and kitchen gardens. However, the great forest giants were not cut down, Charity saw to that. Her love of trees undimmed, she had hundreds more planted on the newly cleared land. Village urchins were paid handsomely to water the fragile saplings and chase away the cows and goats which would have made a meal of them. As Daniel had hoped, Chevathar was beginning to heal his mother.

Soon after his return, Daniel had thought long and hard about whether to take over as thalaivar of the village: a Dorai had held the position for as long as anyone could remember. In the end he decided the family colony had a greater claim on his time. He let the village elder he had appointed when he had sent Abraham away continue in the job. Ramdoss would supervise him. To run the settlement, Daniel constituted a committee of elders drawn from the twenty-three founding families. A fortnight after they arrived, the committee met to frame the rules the colony would live by. They drew up twelve commandments, of which the most contentious was the one which banned all political activity within the colony. A couple of cousins objected, but Daniel used his chairman’s veto. ‘I’ve seen politics up close and find it abhorrent,’ he said. ‘I’ve already lost a brother to it, and I will not lose any more of my family if I can help it.’ But even Daniel had to concede defeat on the proposal he mooted to remove all traces of caste from the family. ‘Christianity does not recognize caste, and we have all seen the dangers of caste conflict,’ he said. ‘I would like to suggest that all of us drop caste names and only retain the birth, marriage and death rituals of our caste.’ He didn’t find a single supporter for the idea and even Ramdoss demurred. ‘It’s all very well to abolish caste in this community, anna,’ he said, ‘but we are also part of society at large. It gives us our identity. You cannot change the entire world.’