Words On Canvas

Mohammad was a docile man in his early 60’s, an old man in those times. He had 7 children, the first 3 being male and the remaining daughters. Mohammad lived on the west coast of Southern India in the small town of Thoothukudi. His family had been living there for generations, every since the final days of Hyder Ali’s empire that spanned a large portion ofsouthern India. Initially sent as tax collectors for southern India, Mohammad’s great grandfather had grown to love the land and its people. Much unlike the east and north India which was ripe with political and religious strife the south was relatively peaceful with its people simple and warm hearted.

Mohammad was the largest landowner in the village. His fields produced the largest amount of crop in the entire region. He was also widely respected by his entire village for he was one of two people who could read, write and communicate in the language of the firangees – English. He paid his employees well and played an active role in all the village affairs. For some, the fact that he and his family were Muslims was of no consequence whatsoever. So went on Mohammad’s happy life.

Until one day he arrived, in his majestic horse drawn carriage, with the characteristic red coat and top hat, Mr.John Winkleton the local collector. Mohammad was in the backyard when his wife came up to him and said “ Ji! The collector has come and wants to talk to you” and she added in hushed tone “He looks really happy. Please be careful when you talk to him”. Mohammad smiled at her reassuringly and replied “Shenaaz, why do you worry so much? I’ll take care if anything happens. Just prepare a cup of tea for the two us and all will be fine. Go on…”

So, putting on his best smile and an air of nonchalance Mohammad greeted Winkleton with a firm handshake and offered him a glass of tea. After exchanging pleasantries, Mohammed proceeded to ask his guest what the purpose of his visit was, for you see the rulers of this great country did not worry about its land or its people.

“What’s the matter Winkleton saab, what has brought you to my humble abode”

“Oh my dear Mohammad, what can I say? It’s the viceroy’s new policy you see…”

“What about it”

“Well, you know that the plague is spreading fast in western India, don’t you? The viceroy wants to increase aid to these victims”

“That’s really thoughtful of him. So how can I be of help to him?”

“Well, there is going to be a threefold increase in taxes Mohammad, I just came here to tell you that”

“Winkleton saab, how can this be? The people of Thoothukudi would not be able to bear such a sudden increase…”

“Now now Mohammad” guffawed Winkleton “It’s for the good of your own countrymen"

“But saab…”

“Look Mohammad, I respect you. That’s why I am telling this in advance so that you can talk to your people and convince them to cooperate with the government. Or else, you know the consequences…”

“Of course Winkleton saab, of course…”

“Well, I’ll be going then. Thank you for the tea Mohammad!”

“Of course Winkelton, you are welcome anytime”

So left Mr.Winkleton from Mohammad’s home, leaving him with the daunting task of revealing to his fellow villagers about the increase in taxes. For the next three days, Mohammad planned and thought out how he would break the news at the next village head’s meeting. Try as he tried, he could not think of a convincing way to justify such a sudden increase in taxes. In fact he was certain that a large portion of the increased taxes would never reach the people who were in real need, but would rather fill the coffers of the British rulers.

And so came the fateful day when he called for a meeting of the entire village elders. He explained to them what Mr.Winkleton had told him and asked them to co-operate. There was much hue and cry among the villagers once news of this new tax spread around. But as everyone knew, if they did not pay this tax the Britishers would cut their access to the seeds market and the whole village would go bankrupt. ‘Something is better than nothing’ was the prevailing thought in those days.

So arrived the day on which Mohammad had to leave to give the taxes to the British. Mohammad made this trip twice a year to far away Madras. All taxes were to be paid at the Ripon building, the power centre of the British administration in the south.

Mohammad had a heavy heart when he left home on that fateful day. His briefcase was full of cash and even mortgages, for some of his co-villagers did not have a good harvest that year. As he walked to the station he could feel the weight of the bag pulling him down to the ground as if it wanted to go back to the ground, back to the soil and water which had made the possibility of this money to exist. He took a bus to the nearby station of Madurai. On reaching there he made his way to the Madurai railway station. Slowly walking up to the station master, he asked for a ticket to Madras. On getting the ticket, old man Mohammad proceeded to sit by the platform on a rusty old bench. You see, the station wasn’t used much with very few passengers using it each day. Mohammad always thought about the station master for he was a strange man. Some said that he was a very wise man, but some said he was a fool, others just thought that he was just a madman but no one could know for sure.

With these vague thoughts and a billion other such Mohammad dozed off to sleep on that old bench. He dreamt of mountains and valleys. He dreamt that this mountain had a soul and that this soul had gone far far away. He heard it calling out for it, like a lost lover looking for her savior or a loving mother wailing for the loss of her only child. He could feel the pain of the mountain for he seemed to know that its soul was finding its way back to him even as he was watching. Somehow Mohammad seemed to know that the mountain had a name, and the name was Arunachala.

And like all dreams, it escaped his mind as he awake groggily, only to be shocked by the fact that he fell asleep with all this money with him. He looked around for his bag and found it lying next to him, intact. He also noticed a little boy sitting a few feet away, lost dreamily in thought. Somehow the boy felt familiar, Mohammad did not know how. Lazily he got up picked up his bag and got on the train. He sat next to the window and stared out at the station. The little boy sitting near him was nowhere to be seen. “Oh, he must’ve got on the train as well” thought Mohammad “Strange, I seemed to know that too”. As Mohammad then glanced around the compartment only to find it completely empty, except for the boy.

The train started with a jerk and then Mohammad heard the whistle. “Just as always” chuckled Mohammad for he had been on this journey a thousand times, but never was he so apprehensive and edgy as this time. He thought it was because of the money he was carrying but little did he know otherwise.

Lost in his own thought, Mohammad did not notice him approaching till he sat down right in front of him. It was the boy Mohammad had seen before. The boy somehow seemed a bit odd to Mohammad. He seemed to be from a good family, of an athletic build and well fed that too. Not the type to travel alone at such a young age usually. Moreover, no child would ever come and sit in front of a complete stranger in an otherwise completely empty compartment. “Never talk to strangers” is something that all parents tell their children, and so had Mohammad to his own. But this boy had done the exact opposite. It was then that Mohammad understood. The boy was indeed alone... and scared. He preferred the company of a complete stranger to those of his own thoughts. The boy reeked of insecurity, doubt and guilt.

“Whats your name boy?” asked Mohammad

“Venkataraman” replied the boy “Venkataraman Iyer”

“Where are you from Venkat? I can call you that can’t I??”

“I’m from Madurai only. Are you not from here uncle?”

“No my child. I am from Thoothukudi and am heading to Madras. So, may I ask where you are headed??”

“Arunachala”

“Oh! Arunachala, do you know where it is?”

“No”

“Then how are you going to get there?”

“I don’t know, I guess he will help me” The boy eyes lit up “You see, I can hear him. I can hear him call my name. I can feel his presence ever drawing closer, the warmth and the love. It’s more than I ever felt with my family even” All of this seemed strangely familiar to Mohammad, but he did not know how.

“Who are you talking about my child?”

“Well, Arunachala of course”

“Ah! Well… yes.. Arunachala, are you sure my boy? Arunachala is just a hill after all”

“I know uncle, but I can hear him call and I have to obey that call. That is what I feel right now”

Mohammad stared at the boy not able to fully comprehend what the boy was saying. The boy however looked back at him as if everything was all right and that he had said the most natural thing in the world. They both looked at each other in silence, Mohammad still trying to fathom the depth of what the boy spoke. He could not but help notice that he somehow felt that it made sense. And that his destiny was intertwined with the boy’s.

“So, what did you parents have to say about you going to Arunachala?”

“They don’t know that I’ve left or even where I am going. I wrote a small letter though and I think they won’t mind”

“But they will feel bad my child. Are you sure that you want to hurt them? Would he who was calling really want you to cause pain??”

The boy remained silent for while and replied “When Valmiki asked his wife and children to partake in his sin, did they? They refused. It’s the same way here, why must I partake in their suffering even though I am responsible? I am sure he who is calling has willed it to happen. I just know that I have to go that’s all…and he will take care of my family and they won’t need me”

“Hmmm” thought Mohammad. “He does have a point there. We can’t keep entrusting our welfare to others. I guess each man is an island connected to one another by the ties of love, hate and family. But it is up to each one to decide how important that tie is”

The bag on Mohammad’s lap suddenly began to feel very light, as if it was no longer a burden, for Mohammad had just got an idea. He had heard of this organization – The Indian National Congress that was doing its bit to fight against British injustice. And it was all over the papers that they were going to have their National Conference in the city of Madras in the forthcoming days. He had also read that they had a bunch of hot shot lawyers amongst them as well. Someone with the name of Nehru, he did not quite remember exactly. He knew he should take the case of the excess taxes to them. Somehow he knew that this would cause a stir and might end up making a difference. If the British were to punish their village in some way, he would have to pray in his fellow villagers ties with him.

“Ah! Well .. you seem to have thought this out very well. Haven’t you? “ said Mohammad

“No thatha, I have not. I just say what I think is right and do what is right at this moment. That’s all I can do for now. Say, do you know how to get to Arunachala? “

“Oh! You do not know how to get to Arunachals, yet you are going there”

“Yes”

“Ok, let me help you. Take this train to Villupuram and from there on you can take another train to Thiruvanamallai”

As Mohammad told these words, the ticket collector arrived in their compartment. It was just a matter of minutes before he came upto the 2 of them.

“Tickets” said the TTR in their usual bored demeanor

“I’d like to buy a ticket now sir, I forgot to buy one for my grandson here” said Mohammad. The boy did not say a word.

“Ah! Old man, all of you are like this only. Can’t you buy the tickets at the station.. cough.. cough… you are making this so much trouble for.. cough.. me… cough cough”

“Now now TTR sir, here is the money” said Mohammad taking out the train money for a ticket to Villupuram from his own money.

“OK ok” said the TTR accepting the money and putting it in his pocket. “Next time I will report you” and the TTR walked away.

The boy then put took the money from his pocket and handed it to Mohammad.

“Thanks thatha, he would have thrown me out surely if you hadn’t told him I was your grandson. Even if he had let me go, he would have asked me to pay more than the ticket would cost. Then I would not be able to go to Thiruvanamallai”

“That’s quite all right my child. Next time don’t get on the train without knowing where to go. Maybe Arunachala sent me this time to help you! “said Mohammad with a chuckle accepting the money. “This boy has some guts and determination, and he’s not stupid either” thought Mohammad

“Do you know what you are going to do what you get to Thiruvanamallai?” asked Mohammad

“I’m not sure” replied Venkat “When I get there I’ll know. All I know is that I have to get there. But thatha I am feeling a little bit scared…”

“Ah! Do not worry my child” cut short Mohammad “All is well. I’m sure God is with you!” said he in the most truthful manner anybody could possibly have uttered such a statement.

An overjoyed Venkat gave him the largest and warmest smile he had ever seen.

The two of them passed the remaining time in silence knowing that nothing more needed to be said. It was a contract of trust and understanding between the two of them as if they understood each other, spoken to by the same voice. Mohammad was in deep thought about what he would say to the INC and Venkat was immersed in the very sound of the name of ‘Arunachala’.

At the next station Venkat got off the train wanting to stretch his legs and walk around a bit. And when he got back to his compartment it was completely empty. Mohammad was nowhere to be seen. Little did Venkat realize that he had gotten onto the wrong railway carriage. And thus this little encounter became the stuff of legend.