Benyamin - Yellow Lights of Death

I had nothing to say. No argument.

‘It’s my policy to take care of myself before poking my nose into another’s business. You can call it selfishness. I don’t mind. But that’s how it works in this world. I want to enjoy my life. This policy has taken me from a shack at Cherar Peruntheruvu to a flat at Cornish. If I knew anything related to Senthil’s death, and if I had something to hide, like you suspect, why would I have told you that it was Senthil? You would have never come to know. Right? Do you know that the day after the incident, I went to his house. I thought the body must have been sent home. I’d gone to attend his funeral. But when I went there, his family had no clue that he was dead. How could I have told them what I saw? It was awful! And when I went the next time, they all believed that Senthil had died of a heart attack. I kept thinking of telling Anpu the truth every time I visited. But I couldn’t. If you see that as deceit, I’ve nothing to say.’

I sat unable to look at her face, toying with the empty cup.

‘I’m already late for office. Call me when you want to meet again. I’ll always be available at this number. See you.’ She slipped on her shades and left.

Smart girl, I told myself. Whether you are right or wrong, you’ve succeeded in convincing me. That’s smartness. This world is for people like you. It’s not surprising that you have a fancy flat at Cornish while I continue to stay at the house of my ancestors.

Realization

I REACHED HOME to find the family in the midst of celebrations. Momma came and hugged me as soon as she saw me. Lucky you, said Chettathi. Papa, oddly, was sipping his drink in the front room. Some great moment of glory — but I had no clue what it was. I stood there like a fool till Papa offered me a drink. I declined because I was afraid that there had been some progress in Momma’s and Chettathi’s interest in Melvin. But fortunately, that was not the matter.

‘The visa papers are ready for your Australia trip,’ Papa said, patting my shoulder. A shiver passed through my spine. ‘It’s just formalities left now. Go to the embassy for a formal interview, and get the visa stamped on your passport. That’s all.’

I made no reply. Actually, there should have been a tirade of words from me. But the turn of events had left me speechless. Papa had mentioned it to me only once or twice. I had not realized how serious he was about it. I got up silently and went to my room.

After a while, Papa came to my room. I turned my back, facing the other side.

‘You were always like this when you were sulking. How true it is that habits don’t change however much a man grows up!’ Papa said, sitting on my bed.

I dragged the blanket over my face. After I did it, I realized that it was another feature of my childhood tantrums.

‘After a certain age, we should consciously rid ourselves of some habits,’ Papa said. ‘Especially if that helps us, the family and society.’

‘I don’t want to listen to old philosophy. I am being kicked out of this house and deported from this island. Isn’t that what all of you want?’

‘Don’t act like a fourth-rate dramatist. I expect a better response from you. It’s for your future, a bright future. Don’t you have a dream? The dream of writing a great Malayalam novel. A novel that will be read by the world. To realize that dream, you’ve to sacrifice some things. All great deeds demand that. Has anyone conquered the Himalayas walking on a red carpet? Anyone?’

‘If I go away from here, will talent flow into me? Will words fly towards me?’ I asked, fuming.

‘I’m not saying that. But your perspective will expand. Your visions will widen. Every great writer in the world has written their great works after leaving their hometown. I’ll tell you of my experience too. The person I was before Paris, was transformed after my time in the city. Our small dreams grow into big ones. That’s probably the only advantage of an expatriate life. Consider your case. Did you give any thought to becoming a novelist before you went to the mainland? I don’t think so. Life there altered your dreams. Changed your aims. That’s what I’m saying. It’ll add new depths to your novel. Those that you wouldn’t even be able to think of now. If you stay back, your life will fade into anonymity. You’re old enough to think for yourself. My advice will only irritate you, so I’m leaving. You have one night to make a decision. A night to choose who you want to be. All those who became nothing in life would have also had a similar night. They must have spent the rest of their lives regretting the decision they took on that crucial night. There is nothing worse in this earth than a life filled with self-contempt. All those who succeeded in this world have also had a similar night. Remember that.’

Papa’s words echoed in my mind long after he left. Why was I keen on staying back? Of what use was it to me? What misfortune could befall me if I leave Diego? What would I gain? How did my family benefit from deporting me? But wasn’t that a figment of my imagination? An argument to fight a decision taken without my approval. What else could it be? Nothing remained on this island to hold me back. For a man of my age, it should have been a binding love affair that was keeping me back. But there was no such affair. What else? Attachment to the family? No. Friends from whom I couldn’t part? No. Fun gatherings? No. Convivial evenings? No. What else? Perhaps the only reason to stay back was the mystery of Senthil’s death. The curiosity to know the answers and to chase after them. But wasn’t it childish to say I’ll be satisfied only if I can find out the motives and the people responsible for his death and its cover-up, like in a detective novel? Suppose I find out someday, can I even raise a finger against them? What support will the law and the government give me? Nothing. There was a community of people immersed in fraud and forgery. They were beyond all law. Their rules were not ours. I wouldn’t be able to do anything against them. Senthil’s death was a murder, but it had not been committed by gangsters or militants or underworld goons. It had been perpetrated by people ensconced within the walls of our legal system. I cannot do a thing. Finding them could be the gravest mistake to make. To realize that it was a mistake was the real worth of that restless night.

I decided: Tomorrow, I’ll go to the Australian Embassy and get my visa done.

Papers

IT IS NOT dreams or choices that decide the fate of a man, but his circumstances. Or else, how could my boat ride to the Australian Embassy end up at the Oothukkuli jetty near Cherar Peruntheruvu?

When I got ready in the morning and said I was leaving for the embassy, everyone’s jaws dropped.

Papa couldn’t believe my overnight transformation. He congratulated me. ‘Now, I’m convinced that you are good at taking the right decisions. You’ll succeed. Wherever you go, you won’t figure in the list of losers.’

The appointment was at 10.30 a.m. ‘No big deal. They won’t ask anything that you can’t answer. I’ve arranged for everything. This house is waiting for some good news.’

I was halfway to the embassy when the call came.

It was Anpu. ‘I need to meet you urgently.’

‘Why, Anpu? What news?’

‘I’ll tell you when you come. Will you come?’

‘Is it that urgent?’

‘A bit.’

‘Okay, I’ll be there.’

Anpu needed me. I turned the boat to Cherar Peruntheruvu.

When I reached Senthil’s house, Anpu and her father were at the door waiting for me. Seeing that, I became more anxious. ‘What happened, Anpu?’

‘Two men came from Senthil’s office. They brought a lot of papers and asked me to sign them. They’ll come later today to pick them up.’