The House of Blue Mangoes (40 page)

‘Do you know what that is?’ Daniel asked, pointing.

‘Oh, that’s where the old cobra lives. It’s become very cunning and shoots off to hide when it hears the slightest noise.’

‘It’s actually the remains of a fort,’ Daniel said, ‘from the time of Kattabomma Nayaka, nearly one hundred and fifty years ago.’ He noted with satisfaction that he had the boy’s interest.

‘Were there battles and dead people?’ Kannan asked.

‘Yes, all of that. The fort belonged to a minor warlord called Kulla Marudu who proved to be a surprisingly tenacious fighter against the British. About a hundred men held off the famous Major Bannerman and his troops for a month.’

‘Did he kill the Englishman, appa?’

‘No,’ Daniel said. ‘A traitor within the fort opened the gates one night and Major Bannerman’s troops poured in. After a short sharp fight Kulla Marudu was captured. As was common in those days, his head was cut off, mounted on a pike, and taken around all the surrounding villages to warn them against emulating him.’

‘Do you think there are skeletons down there?’ Kannan asked excitedly, all the nervousness and fear he had felt in the presence of his father wiped from his mind.

‘I doubt it. Little boys have been playing here for over a hundred years and I don’t think they will have left anything of interest. Besides, the British cremated as many of their victims as possible, not because they were respecting local custom but because they didn’t want their remains to become objects of veneration.’

Kannan’s enthusiasm for the fort diminished when he learned of the absence of skulls, but he was beginning to enjoy the walk. What new surprises would his father spring on him? He spotted an S-shaped mark in the dirt and pointed.

‘Look, appa,’ he yelled excitedly, ‘there’s the track of that old cobra.’

‘What letter of the English alphabet does it remind you of?’

Kannan’s enthusiasm vanished. This was unfair, he thought. Just when he was beginning to enjoy himself, how could his father put him in mind of boring old school?

‘Is it a J?’ he asked cautiously. It had been a long time since he had attended the weekly English class in his Tamil medium school. No matter how much he racked his brain, J was the only letter that came to mind.

‘No, it’s not J. Thirumoolar, what are they teaching you at school?’

‘Lots and lots of lessons,’ he said quickly. ‘How about P?’ he added, remembering another letter.

‘It’s absolutely not P,’ Daniel snapped. ‘If you can’t answer something as simple as that, how are you going to pass exams, take your rightful place as the head of the family?’

All his earlier good humour gone, he looked at his son, taking in as if for the first time the grubby clothes, the badly cut hair that obscured much of the forehead, the scabbed and scraped legs, the generally raffish air of the boy. He began a tirade, but it was swiftly cut off by the memory of his own father’s disappointment in him.

As he tried to restrain himself, Daniel hoped the unimpressive boy would somehow find within himself the spirit that would help him take on the responsibility of being a Dorai. It would be up to Ramdoss, Lily and him to nurture the boy’s talent. But there’s time enough for that still, he argued with himself. Let the boy be. He smiled at his son, unexpectedly ruffled his hair, and said, ‘That was an S, son. You must study harder, learn English until it’s at least as good as your Tamil. The English run the country, and it’s always useful to learn the ways and tongue of the rulers.’

Kannan nodded. Although he was surprised he’d escaped a lecture, the fun had gone out of the walk, and the distance between them had re-emerged. Daniel felt the same, and cutting short their stroll, they made their way home.

That evening Daniel shared his concern about Kannan with Lily and Ramdoss.

‘There’s so much to be done. Every day brings with it new challenges, and I’m afraid that Thirumoolar may not be up to them. He looks and behaves like an idiot. Why, he couldn’t even recognize the letters of the English alphabet!’

Lily was quick to spring to her son’s defence: ‘He’s bright. It’s just that he needs some coaching. I’ll engage tutors for him. And we could transfer him to the new English medium school that’s just opened in town.’

‘Yes, that sounds like a good idea. And I should take a greater interest in him. After all, I’m his father and I feel I’ve been neglecting him. And let’s not forget that the future of the family will depend on him in a few years’ time.’ He paused, then said, ‘I wonder if my decision not to let him know what was expected of him as a Dorai was a good one. You never know with these things, do you?’

Ramdoss said, ‘I think you made the right decision, anna. Give him a little more time, let him grow up normally. He’s a fine boy and will make a fine leader.’

62

Ramdoss was right. As time passed, Kannan began to display the sorts of qualities that augured well for the family’s future. Although not too academically inclined or possessed of the remarkable sporting ability of his uncle Aaron, he was tough, confident and quite unafraid of taking on challenges.

These began quite early in his life, and had a lot to do with his surname. Despite his father’s continued resolve not to single him out for favours, he was inevitably picked on by those who wanted to establish their claim to leadership in the group. Matters were not helped by Kannan’s quick temper, which became apparent as he grew older. By the age of ten, he was getting into fights all the time. He was small for his age, but he more than made up for it with a ferocious determination not to yield. Everyone who knew him noticed this trait soon enough, and while she was still alive Charity would often say in exasperation: ‘Just my luck that my favourite grandchild should have inherited the Dorais’ most annoying characteristic. Every Dorai I’ve known was as stubborn as a donkey.’

One of the rites of passage every Chevathar boy had to negotiate was the art of riding a bicycle. This wasn’t as easy as it sounds for there were no children’s bicycles and the only machines the boys had access to were those belonging to an uncle or a parent. Consequently, learning how to stay on the bicycle became quite a challenge, for it often stood as tall as the boy did, and his feet didn’t reach the pedals. He would need to balance the heavy, cumbersome machine upright, slide one foot under the crossbar on to the pedal on the side away from him, hop on to the pedal on his own side and then work both frantically to launch the machine on a wobbly course that usually ended in a spill. After adding several more dents to the already bruised machine and skinning his knees, the boy was miraculously able to stay upright, more or less, and it was a common sight to see large bicycles with small boys attached crabwise to them wavering along the dusty paths of Doraipuram.

The only problem was that the rider was still so precariously balanced that he was easy to unseat. One afternoon, a couple of weeks after he’d damaged his father’s car, Bonda, an older cousin, pushed Kannan off his bicycle just as he was getting up steam. The machine and he came crashing down. Bonda stood over the tangle of boy and cycle smirking, but not for long. The minute Kannan had disentangled himself, he rushed at his tormentor.

The fight had been brewing for some time. Bonda, so nicknamed on account of his bulk, was the unofficial leader of the colony’s younger boys. He’d realized he would never establish his leadership conclusively until he had put Kannan down. He needled and tormented him at every opportunity, but this was the first time he had humiliated him so publicly. Sensing the importance of the fight, a gang of eager boys instantly surrounded the combatants.

They fought grimly and silently, egged on by the jeering audience. By virtue of his size and weight, Bonda had the edge and within minutes he was smearing Kannan’s face in the dirt. But the fight was far from over. With characteristic determination, Kannan ignored the pain and twisted and heaved until he had the bigger boy off-balance. With a hard push, he got him off his back and leapt to pinion him. Just then, an image of Charity rose in his mind, followed by an extraordinary feeling of loss and loneliness. It was the first time in over a year that he had thought of the woman around whom his world had once revolved. Tears started to drip down his cheeks. The cheers of his most vocal supporters were replaced by silence. But after that moment of extreme emotion, Kannan felt no grief, only a great desire to smash Bonda into the dirt. His opponent, who thought he had the battle won when he saw the tears, was startled by the redoubled ferocity of Kannan’s attack. In a matter of minutes, he had given up the fight.

For the rest of his boyhood, the tears would flow whenever Kannan fought but by now his opponents knew that it signified nothing, except perhaps an even greater determination to win. Not once in all this time did Kannan reveal the cause of his weeping. He didn’t want to be made a figure of fun. Paati’s pet! He could imagine the heckling if people ever got to know.

By the time he entered his teens, Kannan was the undisputed leader of a group of cousins and hangers-on who were known as the Hockey Stick Gang because of their preference for settling all disputes with hockey sticks. From time to time, members of the group would be hauled up before Daniel by an irate parent or teacher for committing some offence. To Daniel’s chagrin, the culprits would almost always have Kannan among their number. On these occasions he would grow alarmed and a spurt of sermonizing and vigilance over the boy’s activities would ensue until Daniel was consumed by work once again.

During the summer break of Kannan’s penultimate year at school, he was reported to his father four times for a variety of infractions. A week after he had chastised his son for stampeding an irascible cousin’s cows, Daniel was very annoyed when Kannan and members of his gang were arraigned before him again – this time for stealing guavas.

The plaintiff, a small, meek-looking man, was growing more and more long-winded as he described the depredations of the boys, and finally Daniel could take it no more. ‘I’ll sort this out,’ he said firmly, and turned a stern countenance on the culprits. He glared at his son, who was watching the little man’s performance quite composedly, and was struck once more by how much the boy reminded him of Aaron. It wasn’t so much the physical resemblance that Daniel was thinking about; it was the essential nature of the boy – impetuous, short-tempered, uninterested in school. It would be so easy for him to turn wild and unrestrained. Daniel had admired his brother’s toughness and fearlessness and was glad they had surfaced in his son, but they would need to be tempered by restraint and responsibility. There would be a lot of moulding to do. If only I had more time, he thought. But there was no point wishing for what he did not have. Kannan would need to learn, and quickly.

He handed down punishment that was fairly severe, given the nature of the offence – community service for a month, to be carried out under Ramdoss’s supervision. Kannan looked at his father in disbelief, but there was no mistaking the grimness. There would be no reprieve.

That evening, after they’d eaten, Daniel and Ramdoss went for their usual walk. The subject of Kannan came up and Daniel said, ‘I’m worried about the boy. I don’t have the time to look after him and I fear he’ll grow up like his uncle and half a dozen others I could name. It seems to be the hallmark of the Dorais. God gave us the sort of strength and stubbornness a monitor lizard would envy but He forgot to add self-control and prudence.’

‘Between Lily-akka, yourself and me, we’ll set him right, don’t worry.’

‘I know we will, Ramu, but what really worries me about Thirumoolar is that he has shown no interest in medicine, no interest in the colony’s affairs. All he’s interested in is hockey, shooting, cycling, or kicking up trouble to amuse himself.’

‘He’s still a boy, anna, he must have his fun, but I promise you that he’ll be a source of pride . . .’

‘Oh, I’m proud of him, if a little disappointed. He’s in the fifth form now. By the time I was his age I was already pretty sure of what I wanted to do. Look at your boy, Jason. Look what a fine engineer he is. I’m really proud he landed that job in Bombay.’

‘You don’t need me to tell you that we all develop at our own pace, and I’m sure . . .’

Daniel interrupted, ‘I think that perhaps he should be sent away. Separate him from his group, put him in a place where he’ll be disciplined.’

Ramdoss absorbed this in silence.

‘What do you think?’ Daniel demanded impatiently.

‘It might work,’ Ramdoss said. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I’m not sure, but if he shows no aptitude for medicine, it would probably be wrong to put him in a medical college and expect him to survive. I’d much rather have him study something like botany so that he has some knowledge of plants and herbs, and we can teach him the rest here . . .’

They talked of other things then, but as they were returning to the house, Daniel said, ‘The more I think of it, the more I like it. Send the boy to a good college, and then build on whatever they make of him.’

They had almost come to the end of their walk when Daniel said, ‘We must prepare him well, Ramu. He’s got three more years: one year at school, two years Inter. He must make the best of college. Lily and you must prepare him. Spare no expense, he’s our future.’

63

In Vedic times, when a king felt strong and powerful or just plain ambitious, he performed the Aswamedha or horse sacrifice. A magnificent white stallion was chosen and set free at the borders of the kingdom, there to wander as it chose. All the lands that it traversed would now automatically belong to the king. In theory, if the king was mighty enough, the horse would wander for ever, but in practice it was often stopped by some other ruler who didn’t particularly feel like giving up his kingdom. This was tantamount to a declaration of war.

The Germans in the middle of the twentieth century had a different name for the concept –
Lebensraum
. Hitler did what the ancient Indian kings had done – he sent his tanks rumbling into the countries next door. After years of vacillation and appeasement, while country after country disappeared down the gullet of the Third Reich, Britain declared war on Germany.