Amballore House (6 page)

Thoma paused and scanned the audience by sending a penetrating gaze to each one of them. Total attention was expected on this solemn occasion. If the children were not paying attention, Thoma glared at them so hard that they would wet themselves.

The flame of the kerosene lamp sputtered and danced. It cast a huge shadow of Thoma with a letter in his hand onto the whitewashed wall, as if it were a huge TV screen broadcasting Kareena’s message as part of the nightly news. Thoma’s family did not have a TV at that time and this partly explained how Ann gave birth ten times.

“I was looking at the coconut palm trees that swayed in the glorious breeze at an arm’s length from the rail track and was captivated by the divine beauty of those trees. However, my heart was paining at the knowledge that I will not be seeing those trees for a long time to come. My memories of Kerala will always be linked to those trees, tall, happy, and swaying in the ever-present gentle wind.

“I knew I was getting away from you all with every moment in the train, which was heading to Rajasthan with breakneck speed. That moment’s allure was irresistible spiced as it was by the bittersweet feelings of departing from Kerala and embarking upon a dream career in Rajasthan. I was watching the raindrops that hung in the distance from the plantain trees, refusing to fall and yet ordained to do so. Suddenly I felt very melancholic, because I was like that raindrop, departing from my motherland to unknown territories. The train was taking me away from a feast of natural beauty that Kerala always was, always is, and always will be!”

The poetic description of her passage to a strange land from the Kerala that she loved held the family spellbound. They were all missing her and loving her far more now than when she was with them. It takes distance to feel real love.

“The sunset I saw from the train was spectacular. Those crimson-red rays that lavishly painted the landscape were enchanting. In the
distance, I could see cows grazing in the emerald-green meadows and wished I was as free as them, not having to toil for my daily bread. A feeling of sadness descended on me as twilight gave way to nightfall, and I was all alone, staring at a different future in a strange land, far away from Kerala.

“It was as if the sunset resembled my closing chapter in Kerala, a prelude to an unknown yet fascinating new morning in Rajasthan. However, I am aware that this sailing marked the beginning of a hard life for me, with the headache of supporting a large family.”

Kareena sent her salary regularly to Thoma. She also took with her one younger brother, Number-Six, to feed and provide education to. This gesture was a tremendous relief for the family.

“I cannot help going back to my feelings when I was traveling to Rajasthan. I crossed Kerala’s border when a full moon appeared in the sky, with a multitude of glimmering stars anxiously watching me moving forward. The night was not still, with raindrops still falling on the speeding train. I remembered many nights that I was sleeping at our home, listening to endless rain. I wished I was back at home to sleep on the mat next to you all. I was missing the rain that seeped through the roof and drenched every one of us.

“Those memories took me down a slippery slope of many more memories that I have of my home in Mannuthy. Most of these memories are sad because of the hard life I had and because of the lack of moral support required to withstand them.

“I have always felt that I am born from none, cared for by none, and cast away before I could become a burden to everyone else. God should have stepped in; he should have supported me. Did he not wish that I go through a horribly hard life? Was it not his wish that I go through this inhuman plight? Why did he do that?”

Thoma’s voice became soft and was breaking as he was reading those words. He was no longer reading loudly and proudly. He knew that he stood accused by his own daughter. He stopped reading and handed over the letter to Ann. She continued.

“I wish none in the world will have to endure the miserable plight that we inherited. If our own parents and God himself fail in
shedding some light in our lives, is there anything to hope for? Is the reincarnation theory true after all? Did we all commit unmentionable crimes in our previous lives to deserve the inhuman punishment that we are all awarded?”

Ann’s voice was faltering. She was weeping while reading.

“Why are you putting us, your father and mother, down like this, my dear daughter? Why?” Ann asked her daughter, who was miles and miles away, unable to hear her lament.

Her siblings were surprised at the outburst on a happy occasion, coming on the heels of landing a dream job far away from her home where hell was a permanent guest as long as they could remember. They blamed this on the overpowering memories of misery and starvation throughout Kareena’s days in Kerala that sowed sad images in the core of her heart, memories so powerful that they easily eclipsed even the powerful bursts of happiness triggered by her newfound life.

Rita resumed reading, because Ann could not continue. Rita used to join the family along with her husband, Tim, on days when letters from Kareena arrived.

“All along I was hoping there would be a silver lining to our combined suffering. All along I was hoping that there would be a rainbow after a heavy rain to signal some hope. All along I was hoping there would be a bright morning after a long night of suffering. Why are we all born to suffer without a break?

“Even though I am bitter and mad, I keep seeking hope and happiness. I will continue seeking them, even if it means the end of the world.

“I send my love to you all. I hope we will continue our friendship forever, because we have none except ourselves. I hope one day we will be reunited in Kerala and live together happily ever after, just like in fairy tales.

“From Kareena, with love.”

4
OLD MAN MISERY

Thoma and Ann often remembered their wretched life in Mannuthy. Often those memories would rise like monsoon storm, refusing to die down. They could not help remembering the past, because it was hard to forget it, however fervently they wished they could.

Heavy monsoon rain was pelting Mannuthy with gigantic rock-sized water drops. The day looked like night with dark, heavy clouds hovering over Mannuthy and the surrounding areas. The very air in the town looked and felt ominous.

Thoma and Ann were at their home, watching the torrential rain and in the company of Subashini, the parrot.

The monsoon rain season was depressing to Thoma and Ann, since it only brought with it forlorn days, when he would be out of job, with hunger staying with them like a perennial guest. They had been unable to feed ten mouths, been unable to clothe them, and been unable to pay rent to Chettiar, the landlord.

Old Man Misery (OMM) entered Thoma’s household, totally uninvited, at the beginning of the monsoon rain to stay the whole season. He was also known as hunger man or simply, misery man. He was tall, scary looking like a cobra, and with an imposing presence. His annual visit had a clockwork quality—as sure as the monstrous monsoon rain in Kerala, as sure as days dark as midnight during the depressing rainy seasons in Kerala, as sure as the gloom written on the faces of the toiling masses of rural Kerala, and as sure as starvation that stalked them during monsoon season.

For the hunger man and the spectators, his visit had all the elements of a grand ceremony. He made a spectacular entrance, clad in a black robe, signaling the black days of misery to come. The black robe trailed behind him. He made his arrival like an actor would make his dramatic entrance onto a stage. He smoked a beedi, puffing out its black smoke, and chewed tobacco at the same time. He spat out the tobacco’s blood-red liquid at the cracked door of the house. He then sent a sobering look all around, especially to
everyone in the family, terrifying them out of their wits. He laughed loudly and hysterically. He laughed devilishly. He was an insane man.

He sowed discomfort in the hearts of Thoma’s household members. Ann hid fearfully in the inner sanctorum of her leaking kitchen, like a lamb sentenced to be killed. Misery man’s solemn arrival shook her with a terrified heart. His arrival maddened Thoma. Even the stray dog that occasionally sneaked into Ann’s kitchen through a hole in the back door was scared stiff at seeing the hunger man. Thoma sought consolation by smoking a handcrafted beedi made of newspaper scrapped from the street, for lack of a bona fide cigarette or even a beedi. The tobacco product helped alleviate the pain of hunger; it helped put out the fire in his belly.

The menacing-looking guest tossed a beedi generously at Thoma, inviting him to join the smoking ceremony to mark the beginning of the monsoon season’s woes. This philanthropic gesture, in spite of its mocking undercurrents, was reluctantly accepted by Thoma. He had no other choice. He was hungry, miserable, and lonesome and any company was welcome to see through the depressing season. He swallowed his pride. He would have invited even the devil to share the monsoon season.

Thoma and Ann, along with their children, shivered in the cold and trembled with fear in the presence of the hunger man. He reminded the family that he was a special guest to a special family, since he never extended the courtesy of his visit to any other family. The sarcasm was biting. It was penetrating like monsoon chill.

Old Man Misery showed up with a detailed plan that included making sure that there was no rice to cook the whole season; making sure that firewood used as fuel to ignite the clay oven became scarce so that Ann and children could not fetch any from the nearby rubber estate; making sure that Thoma was out of job, curtailing his ability to feed his ten children; making sure that the pots and pans did not need to be washed, since there was no cooking activity; making sure the children’s school dues were not paid; making sure no clothes and blankets were bought to withstand the penetrating cold of the pouring monsoon rain; making sure that
the family caught the aroma of fried fish from their neighbor’s kitchens, revamping the ache of hunger; making sure that there were skirmishes with the landlord over unpaid rent; making sure that the kerosene could not be bought to light up the lamp at night for the children to read their schoolbooks and do their homework, forcing them to read under the streetlamps; making sure the roof leaked, letting in the monsoon rain to soak up the entire house; making sure that misery reigned supreme. The grand plan made sure of including every pathetic detail that allowed the spirit to become weak, because the body was starving.

Monsoon season severely debilitated Thoma’s attempts to find the masonry work, his trade. The misery man commanded Thoma to put his livelihood on hold, effectively asking him to go to hell, to die. He was reduced to a sorry figure, spending all his time at home, sleeping days and nights on end, the torrential rain making him dispirited. There was no relief in sight and none to approach to borrow money from to see him and family through the wet season. The children skipped classes, because he could not assure the quality of their clothing needed to go to school. There was no umbrella to shield them from the pelting rain. More importantly, there was no food for days on end for the growing bodies of his young children, and this depressed him and his wife.

When the season mercifully came to its conclusion, the uninvited guest reluctantly left, with a satisfied look for having sowed terror and reaped its rewards, such as bringing down the self-esteem of the family to the lowest level possible. He spat wildly at the cracked door and tossed another beedi to Thoma. This gesture marked the arrival act and the departure act of his visit. Before departing, he made a solemn promise to come back.

“I will be back next rainy season, my friend!” he told Thoma upon departure, puffing out a black O ring of smoke. “Be sure you don’t leave the premises! Remember, I like you,” he announced, rubbing salt in the wound, adding insult into injury.

He sent a threatening look to Thoma and Ann just before taking off. He sent a knowing look to all the children in the family. Written on his face were a threat and a promise to repeat his monsoon season
pilgrimage in the future. The stray dog howled with fear and ran with its tail tucked between its hind legs. Even bubbly Subashini, who was kept caged in the kitchen, always buoyant and chirpy, was scared and had no wisecracks to offer to lighten up the situation and sow seeds of badly needed sunshine in Thoma’s household.

Old Man Misery laughed like a demon and crossed the front yard. Just before walking down to the street, he disrobed and abandoned the black robe in Thoma’s front yard and immediately became clad in a white robe. He was in the street by now and suddenly disappeared to re-appear next monsoon.

***

While living in the rental house in Mannuthy, Thoma was nine months overdue on rent payment at a time when, paradoxically, Ann was nine months pregnant with one of their countless children. Thoma always promised the landlord timely rent, and landlord stopped asking, hoping he could collect it next month. All of Thoma’s children witnessed the never-ending saga of Chettiar requesting rent and Thoma giving false promises. Thoma was wishing away his responsibilities, as everyone knew.

All his children fearfully prepared for the next encounter with the landlord, come the first of next month. Thoma would be granted one more month to pay the dues. This would continue indefinitely. On the first of the ninth month, the usual encounter did not take place. Instead, Mannuthy’s citizens saw the badly beaten body of Thoma in the gutter, abandoned by the goons hired by the landlord. He was taken to the nearby government hospital by some kind citizens. It broke Ann’s heart seeing her husband so badly beaten that day.

It is not that Thoma did not want to pay the rent. In his heart of hearts, he planned to pay the rent and meant every word he told Chettiar. However, the needs of his children took precedence, and those needs shelved his plans of rental payment. He would be left with no money towards the month’s end. The landlord reached the limit of his patience and took the law into his own hands, being a vigilante of sorts to sort out things.