Benyamin - Yellow Lights of Death

‘This is what the two have to say about Andrapper,’ Biju concluded.

There was a minute’s silence. Could Bilal’s words be true? Were we searching for a story that ends in lunacy or suicide? If so, what was the point of the quest?

‘I’ve another bit of significant information,’ Biju said. We turned to him anxiously. ‘From now on, we don’t have to call him Pachu Andrapper or Chuang Tzu Andrapper or P.C. Andrapper. His real name is Christy. Christy Andrapper.’

‘Christy Andrapper. How do you know?’ I asked.

‘Very easy. It was in Bilal’s mail.’

‘For this precious information, here’s a kiss from me.’ Baldy kissed Biju.

‘All these details are useful. They’ll help us get closer to him. But none of your observations tell us how to locate the next segment,’ I said.

‘Benyamin, there is one thing going for us. He doesn’t want to hide the remaining sections of the manuscript from us, he definitely wants us to get them. That means we don’t have to think too hard. The route is likely to be easier than we expect. I’m sure about it. Let’s wait,’ Mashu said.

‘When we don’t have the answers, everyone tends to reach this conclusion: Wait for the next part.’ Nibu was annoyed. ‘If we have failed to crack the puzzles conjured up by the ordinary brain of Andrapper, we should admit it, and not come up with stupid excuses.’

‘Let’s not bicker over this,’ Mashu said soothingly.

‘We are still waiting for some replies. From Shivasankar. From Melvin. Maybe even from Chuang Tzu. Those are bound to be of some help to us. If anyone identifies a clue in the text or gets a promising response we can meet, or let’s wait until next Thursday,’ Anil said.

The Cultural Ambulance ferried them away. To be honest, I felt let down. I had expected these daredevils to come up with something. That has not happened. I have to wait. It would be great if Shivasankar decided to visit the Andrapper house. If Melvin accepted Baldy’s ‘friend’ request, then, as he said, the next part was likely to be with her. But why was I waiting for Baldy to get a response, why couldn’t I send her a message? He must have mentioned my name to her. It was better to get in touch directly. I logged on to Orkut, found Chuang Tzu, and via him, reached Melvin. I was stunned to see her profile photo. If it wasn’t some film star’s picture, then she was really pretty. I felt envious of Christy Andrapper. Now I was less bothered about gathering information about him, I just wanted to be her friend. I quickly send her a friend request.

Days passed. I didn’t get to hear from her. Nobody got any replies. Salim called Shivasankar one more time. He got the depressing news that not even Andrapper’s relatives knew about his whereabouts. So, that route was closed. More days passed. We held a couple more Thursday Assemblies. Nobody managed to get anything. The investigation had come to a dead end. I returned to writing my novel, Nedumbassery , which had been delayed for a while. But even after spending hours at it, I couldn’t write a single satisfactory line. My mind was full of Christy Andrapper. His life and The Book of Forefathers . I understood that I’d be restless till I get the rest of the parts. I read the portions I had again and again, a thousand times, with the hope of finding hidden clues. Nothing. I was afraid that Mashu’s prediction was coming true. Was the ghost of Andrapper eating up my Nedumbassery ? Was it going to disturb my otherwise disciplined literary life? No, no. I tried to compose myself. But my fear was becoming a reality. My writing came to a stop. My novel came to a stop.

It was then that I fell sick. I had to spend almost a month at a hospital in Ernakulam. One day, a friend, Ajay, who came to visit me brought a stack of books. In it was Archipelago by Mohandas Purameri. A book about Diego Garcia. A book that I started to read despite the high fever. There was a preface by its editor, Srikumar, about the novel and its publication. It also described his trip to Diego to collect an award for the novel, and about meeting a couple of expat authors there, including Mohandas Purameri. He expressed his hope that some of their works would find their way to his publishing house Z Books, and for diaspora literature in Malayalam to scale new heights. I felt a shiver of excitement. Srikumar had been to Diego. He had met writers there, and talked about their work. It was possible that Christy had been one among them. Wouldn’t they have talked about his novel? Was it possible he had handed over a portion to Srikumar? I was restless with queries. I had to call Srikumar.

When I got through to him, I began by asking about Archipelago . Like the previous time, Srikumar championed it passionately. I asked him about his Diego experience.

‘I’d gone along with our Perumbadavam sir,’ Srikumar said. ‘I met Mohan Das there.’

‘You say in your foreword that you met other writers too?’

‘Yes. I am going to publish two of them soon.’

‘Did you meet someone called Christy Andrapper?’ My voice trembled in anticipation.

‘Christy Andrapper? How do you know him?’

‘We are Orkut friends.’

‘Oh, I see. Any idea where he is now?’ Srikumar asked.

That was a let-down. ‘I called you to ask the same,’ I said.

‘How I met him is an interesting story,’ Srikumar said. ‘I had gone to a bar in Diego. It was a barmaid there who told me about him and his book. And I tracked him down at the award function for Archipelago . When I asked him about the novel, he was taken aback. He gave me the publishing rights for his work.’

‘Did he send you his novel?’

‘What did you say was your name?’

‘I am Benyamin.’

‘Oh, Benyamin? Where are you calling from?’ Srikumar got excited.

I narrated my hospital story to him.

‘He didn’t give the whole thing, Benyamin. He sent me one part of it, for me to read. He said the novel is with you for editing, and when you ask, I should send the portion I have to you.’

‘You still have it with you, right?’

‘Oh, I’ll have to check. There are hundreds of manuscripts here in this office.’

‘Please find it for me.’

‘Yes, I will,’ Srikumar promised.

I was nearly jumping with joy. The next section was finally on its way to me.

‘Has Andrapper been in touch with you after that meeting?’

‘We met one more time. Quite unexpectedly, when he had come to Ernakulam. He had come to attend a friend’s funeral. We went there together. I had to leave soon. He was supposed to give me a call afterwards. Never did. Then there was no news of him. And I forgot about it. It’s when you called that it all came back to me.’

‘How can I get the papers?’

‘I’ll drop them off.’

One evening a few days later, Srikumar, along with the poet V.M. Girija, visited me at the hospital. He had with him the envelope with the papers. I literally grabbed it from him. I could barely lend an ear to Srikumar’s inquiries about my health. My mind was wholly focused on The Book of Forefathers . As soon as Srikumar left, I started reading.

Parallel Country

FOR THE NEXT two days, I couldn’t think about the papers the Public Security officers had given Anpu to sign. I was being scolded, sometimes almost shouted at, by one family member after another. The one who dampened our hopes, the one who screwed up his future, the one who is defiant, useless and hopeless, and other similar curses were showered on me. They seemed to believe that going to Australia was akin to going to heaven.

What surprised me more was that even when I’d chosen to study at Thiruvananthapuram, there had been no such ruckus. Usually, students from Diego go to Bangalore, Pune or Mangalore for higher studies. The richer lot chooses Cape Town or Port Elizabeth in South Africa. Or Lisbon in Portugal. Or they go to France or England. The family had decided to send me to France. But I was firm in my choice of Thiruvananthapuram. Since then, all my faults and follies and my joblessness had been blamed on that choice.