Morning After the Storm - Part 3..

White Neeli too grew up with the children Chathan and his wife subsequently had, and was married off in course of time. Mathappan secretly offered some money for the wedding, but Chathan refused to accept it.

Shortly after White Neeli’s birth, Chathan’s name was almost changed. A senior priest from Cochin came to the Big House with the local vicar. The present Thampran’s father summoned all his non – Christian low caste tenants and workers to assemble on the courtyard of the Big House. The senior priest preached that they were all headed for eternal damnation and could be saved only if they became followers of the true God, Yesu Christhu. No one understood the sermon except the parts relating to what they would gain materially by becoming Christians and that interested many.

When the padre had finished, Thampran got up and made a brief statement to the gathering: “There’s no compulsion to convert. Each one can decide for himself.” He went inside without even looking at the cassocked men.

The priest from Cochin was furious but went around pouring water on the heads of those who came forward, chanting Syriac mantras and gave them new names – Pathrose, Paulose, Mathai, Yohanan, Lukose and so on. Chathan remained Chathan and Neeli was glad of it.

After that came the much-publicised Temple Entry Proclamation by the Maharajah of Travancore permitting lower castes to enter temples and worship. Till then, they could not even walk past a temple though cats and dogs could. It hardly made any difference to Chathan who knew no gods except the elements. Neeli was happy however and began visiting the nearby temple often. But she always had to stand far behind the upper classes and wait till they finished their prayers.

Chathan’s reverie was suddenly broken by the question, “Why are you sitting here?”

He looked up. It was his grandson, the watchman of the fields.

“Bad storm’s coming,” Chathan said, “and it’s new moon tonight. The tide will be stronger too.”

“Don’t worry grandfather,” Maran reassured him. “The bund is solid. I’ve been checking regularly.”

Chathan gave him a sceptical look.

“Come, I’ve brought you some toddy,” Maran said showing the bag in his hand and walking ahead.

The old man followed slowly. His eyes roved over the field and the lake and the sky. He kept on scratching his left forearm. Paddy cultivation was still a labour of love for him. In the bygone days everyone was concerned and involved. Rice was sustenance. Growing it was a noble endeavour.

They used to have songs for every step of paddy cultivation – for sowing, for harvesting, for threshing, for winnowing and so on. There was a rhythm in the growth o a plant and a tune to the counting of the measures of grain. Those were simpler times when people lived in harmony with nature.

The music faded with the changes that took place after the big war, in more ways and forms than Chathan could understand.

The first indication came with the visit of a distant cousin who claimed that the King Emperor won the war because the workers of the world supported him. He also said that India would be a free country soon. According to him all land should belong to the tillers. He wanted to unionise labour and fight for their rights.

Chathan couldn’t fathom why anyone should be against a benevolent person like Thampran. The guest explained that Chathan’s lord could be an exception but most land owners and their people were exploiters and oppressors.

Chathan drank heavily that night. Neeli tried to sooth him when they lay down but he pushed her away.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

There was no answer.

“Are you angry with me for some reason?”

“Not with you.”

They were silent in the darkness for a long time. Then Neeli spoke, “There is some truth in what that man said.”

“Yes.”

“Our Thampran’s good though.”

“Yes,” Chathan agreed. But Thampran wasn’t aware of all the details. Most of the supervisors took advantage o their position and made money on the side. Mathappan was mean. He took sadistic pleasure in tormenting workers in several ways. And Chathan heard again Neeli’s sobs in the darkness of a night long ago.

“I’ll kill him,” Chathan said to himself.

Within a year there were Communist led uprisings at two places south of Kadep by agrarian workers wielding crude weapons. The army cracked down on them with machine guns. No one knew how many died. Most of the victims were low caste workmen who were later hailed as martyrs of India's freedom struggle. The bodies were bulldozed into several ponds in those areas and sand was dumped over them. People fled form the trouble spots. Leaders went underground. Chathan was an active member of the squad organized by the Big House to prevent runaways and Communists from entering Kadep.

The same year Thampran had a major problem. A large coconut grove belonging to him on a nearby island was involved in an ownership dispute. The contender was also a powerful person who claimed to be connected to the Maharaja. He came with the police to forcibly take possession. Mathappan who led the defenders was arrested. On hearing that Thampran went to the spot.

He asked Chathan to stand right in front of the police officer in charge and told him, “You knock down the person I tell you to.”

Then he turned to the law keeper and ordered, “Take off the handcuffs.”

The policeman looked at the commanding face of the six feet tall Thampran, the broad-shouldered Chathan ready to strike, and the crowd. He released the supervisor.

That night too, Chathan hit the bottle. Neeli sat opposite him quietly for some time. Finally she asked, “Would you have really hit the police boss?”

“I would’ve killed him if Thampran ordered.”

As the drinking continued, Neeli asked, “What’s the problem?”

Chathan didn’t answer.

"Is it about Mathappan supervisor?”

“Yes,” the man grunted. “Thampran could have used someone else instead of me.”

Neeli put her arm on her husband’s shoulder. “You don’t understand,” she said. “Thampran purposely humiliated that leech Mathappan. You were made his saviour.”

When Mathappan died a few months later, neither Chathan nor Neeli attended the funeral. That was against convention, an offence in fact, but Thampran took no notice.

Continued at. Morning After the Storm - Part 4.