Author’s Note:

This is a ‘real’ story of my grandfather Mr. Raman of Mangalore, written and narrated by my dad Mr. Ravindra Rao in Kannada, and of course, my honest effort to anglicize it.

Most of the words are his, and, despite the added fictional touch, the theme remains intact.

1940s, Mangalore

I stop at a tea shop watching a procession of peace protests of the Quit India movement. The silent rally consisted of mostly young men with neatly combed and well-oiled hairdos reflecting their ripe age that has suppressed the eagerness to surpass an ego of oppression; clad in white cotton or white khaki dress. Some say, the British will leave India, post the World War Two. But the war has just begun and it might last for a few years.

As the dusty procession pass by, the store keeper asks me, ‘How was your day, Ramanna?’

I take a huge gulp of the tea, which is now lukewarm, and look at him smiling.

‘Its been long as usual Janardhan. I need to find someone who can take care of the coconut saplings before the summer onset.’

‘I know a boy who can be of some help. He is a bit innocent. So be gentle on him. I can assure you that he would do a good job,’ Janardhan said.

‘Don’t send me a cow, Janardhan,’ I say with a smile. ‘There are enough cows grazing in my plot whilst I’am away. I suspect they are deliberately sent by my neighbour Venkanna, and I need someone to care my coconut saplings.’

‘Ha ha… No, I can assure you. He will do as you command.’

‘Sure. I count upon you then. He needs to take care of the one acre of land. Let me see how good he is. Bring that boy tomorrow at dawn please.’ I say this giving him an anna from my dhoti’s pocket. The new dhotis had pockets in them and I was a proud owner of one.

As I walk towards the Mangalore Bundar (port), it seemed that the dusk had come early. Lined irregularly were colourful boats of different sizes heading to different destinations. I walk to the rustic group of passengers waiting for their short trip to Ullal, some chit chatting with beedis hanging from the tip of their mouth. Really RusticI think.

‘Vittal did not arrive, but, Ramanna Maistry (as I’am called by the local folk) arrived,’ said one guy. The boat has also arrived and people started to board one-by-one. We were 15 in total; not too many, but, sufficient to call it a full house. The boat was lengthy. There were four decks and some sat on it, while the rest were seated in the center of the boat along with the goods.

‘All aboard? Can we leave?’ Moideen Kaka, the chief oarsman shouted at the top of his voice.

‘Yeah! Lets go Kaka,’ shouted the rustic group.

With a final look at the port, kaka steered the boat with his long oar to the center of the river. The boat moved ahead with a gentle push-pull motion, and with the able stewardship of kaka. All present breathed a calm deep breath. As the boat moved to the center of the river, the chatting resumed.

The river seemed to be peaceful today. Since, there was no opposing wind, there wasn’t a need to use the main sail. The boat moved smoothly cutting the Phalguni river, which was flowing calmly towards the Arabian sea, and by the time it joined the majestic Nethravathi river, it would have taken 15 minutes.

The force of the river at its junction was swift. The confluence of the two water bodies, meeting at the Arabian sea in the west, with the backdrop of the land of the Bangeres, and to the south where one could witness the lonely Ullal ferry, and the setting of the sun amidst its golden hue was a wonderful sight to watch.

Luckily it isn’t the monsoon I think, and so, the passage is fine. But I had my trust on Moideen kaka and I believe the rest present in the boat shared the same thought. For a fragile man wearing a white banian and a chequered lungi with a thick leather belt where he usually kept his stuff of tobacco and beedis, he can control a boat no matter what the wind speed was, no matter the water current was.

As the sun set, we reached the Ullal Jetty. Everybody began to get down and paid Moideen kaka one anna for his hardship. Enough to buy rations for the evening.

I got down the last and I remembered that I too had to purchase my own rations.

As I walk the narrow sandy beach road, a natural path trodden by numerous passersby’s, my vision started to scan my surroundings.

That boy was somewhere here, wasn’t it? He must be somewhere here. I was waiting for that moment.

Here is Abdullah kaka’s grocery shop. His shop was small. A kirana store. There was a 30 feet space in front of his shop and the main road. There was a waste dump nearby his store. Someone had thrown banana leaves with morsels still on it. Beggars were not choosers and left overs were the poor people’s delight. Probably there was a party somewhere.

Here, I find the boy. My boy. He seemed to be relishing something and I carefully approached him.

He didn’t observe me at first, and I saw that he was carefully picking up the best morsel from the discarded banana leaf seated on a brick. How hunger gave no choice. I was heart-broken. The boy looked strong and healthy. With a sturdy body of someone who had been going to the gymnasium and wearing a pant and shirt, though dirty.

Although it was difficult to judge the colour of the dress, it was soiled. If he has worn a pant then he should be from a good educated family. The boy unaware of my presence, was eating from the banana leaf, licking his hands

‘Aye, what are you doing?’ I asked. A stupid question indeed, to a beggar relishing his meal.

The boy now stunned by an intruder, looked at me. His face was innocent and scared. Perhaps he felt I was in his territory. A look on his face suggested that he was, but, a boy with hardly any hair above his upper lip.

Scared, he pointed his hand to his mouth and gently rubbed his tummy wondering if I understood.

I did.

‘Who are you? and what’s your name?’ I demanded.

No answer.

After a pause, he indicated with his hands that he cannot speak. My pity on this vagrant doubled.

‘Well, do u know to write then?’ I asked.

He replied with a little nod.

‘Come with me,’ I said, and took him to Abdullah kaka’s grocery shop.

‘What Ramunni? Who is this new boy?’ Abdullah kaka asked.

‘Abdullah kaka, please give me some water to wash my hands,’ I asked.

There, take it from the earthen vessel,’ he said.

You could find virtually anything in kaka’s store. So, searching for the earthen vessel was not a tough task. I picked up a cup and fetched water from the vessel and gave it to the boy. I asked him to wash his hands. The boy washed and wiped it on his dirty dress.

‘Kaka, please give me something to write. A pen and a paper. Quick,’ I asked.

‘Eh! What did u say?’ Kaka asked. I almost forgot that he was hard at hearing sometimes.

‘One pen and a paper,’ I shouted, startling the boy who nearly laughed. ‘The boy doesn’t know to speak. He said he knows to write.’ I handed the pen and the paper to the boy.

‘Here boy, write your address,’ I said. He wrote his name on it.

Sukumaran Vadakeveetil, Panjikad, Allepey

‘Are u a Malayali?’ I asked him. Beautiful hand-writing. Really, he seems to be an educated person. Moreover, the boy wrote in English.

‘Ramunni, it is an unnecessary task that you are about to initiate. If you go home, you would have to listen a few words from your mom, Kumbamma,’ Kaka warned.

‘That’s okay kaka. He might be useful to water coconut saplings, to take care of cows etc. We badly need one boy. My mother cannot handle everything, and I believe he is the one who is able to do the household chores,’ I replied.

‘Where is the old lambu?’ Kaka asked.

‘He is gone. Just disappeared,’ I said.

‘Oh! so you have found a replacement. But I don’t like it. He too might follow suite,’ Kaka replied.

I just smiled and bid farewell. I took him with me and by the time I reached home, it was 7 pm. I opened the compound gate and walked to the door. There was no oil lamp lit till now, and no light lit near the Holy Tulsi plant.

The evening sunlight was still visible, but, faint. I looked at the cow shed. There was a small lamp glowing and staring at me. Maybe mom would be there. She might be feeding the cows and giving them water.

‘Amma,’ I called.

No response.

Amma came out from the cow shed, hand smeared with fresh cow dung.

‘What is it dear? where were you all the while?’ she asked.

She looked at the boy near the door, studying carefully from top to toe.

‘Who is this? the mad man?’ she asked.

I was wondering how to tell this to mom.

‘Amma.. Naanu isn’t there right? so it is good this boy will support you,’ I said expecting a remark.

‘That is why I suggest you to marry. If there is a daughter-in-law at home, then, your loafing and roaming would stop automatically,’ she said.

‘No Amma. It’s not like that. There should be someone to water the coconut saplings and to look after our cows. We need someone right?’ I asked.

‘So, you are here for that, right? When you wake up, you could pour a pot of water to each sapling. That should suffice.’

‘Let it be Amma. Let us see how many days he would work. At least, give him a chance,’ I said.

‘That means, we can accommodate a mad man? Are you planning to open a mental hospital?’ she asked staring at that boy with fire in her eyes.

The boy was standing and listening to me and mom. He was keenly looking at our faces, especially moms. His face seemed to be in fear.

‘Hey, don’t you fear. Mom’s like that, but, she is soft from inside. Just stand here.’

I went inside and brought an aluminium pot, drew water from a well, and kept it on the ground.

‘You, sit here.’ I asked pointing to the granite stone, where mom would usually wash our clothes.

‘Chey! I really forgot. We need a soap and a towel to wipe his body, and a clean set of clothes. I didn’t remember all these,’ I thought. ‘If I ask my mom, she will scold me for sure.’

I ran inside the house. My room was dark. That’s were my dad slept. I lit the kerosene lamp and searched for my iron suitcase. Eventually, I found it. The snow-white lungi.

When I looked at it, I remembered my dad. It is in this bed, one year back, at morning 8 am he breathed his last. Past six months, he had been suffering from cancer or mouth ulcer, whatever it was, and there was a pain in his mouth that he always complained. A result of eating betel leaves.

He was taking medicines from a local doctor of Thokottu. I had asked him to visit an English doctor, but, he was adamant. He never listened to me. Finally, the ulcer became septic, and one day he died. Mom had cried a lot. Seeing my mom, even I felt like crying. I didn’t know what to do.

The funeral ceremony was over by 6 or 7 pm.

Behind my house, lived Kittaka who made aapams. Behind their balcony was the burial ground. A bit further from there was the Arabian sea. It might be half a mile from my house. We could hear the sounds of waves washing the shore very clearly.

Near the sea was the Hindu burial ground. All castes of Hindus cremate their dead at this burial ground.

Next day, my mama ji (moms elder brother), his wife, his children and other relatives visited our house. They bought rice, pulses and various household items with them, which was customary. I did not understand all that.

‘Your father died and henceforth it is now your responsibility to take care of the house,’ said mama ji. ‘You should go to your work regularly. Each week you should pay wages to your mom, whatever you get. You should always help your mother,’ advised mama ji.

The seven-day Uttarakriya was over. All relatives went back to their respective homes leaving us lonely once more.

Mom lighted the lamp and came to the verandah. I could see the face of the boy glowing in the lamps light. I gave him the lungi, shirt and the soap. I placed them all near the well.

‘Come. Let’s bath,’ I said and poured the pot of water on him.

‘Hai,’ he shouted and shivered when his fragile body contacted the cold water.

‘Take the soap. Wash yourselves cleanly,’ I said. There was bad odour while he was cleaning himself.

It seemed to me that he hadn’t bathed for a long time. I think his body never touched water for a while.

‘Use the soap boy and clean yourself,’ I said animating myself.

The boy washed himself and the smell of soap finally replaced the bad odour.

I poured two or three pots of water on him.

‘Throw the old clothes, wipe yourself with the towel and wear this new dress,’ I said.

He didn’t listen to remove his clothes. I had to force him to remove his clothes.

‘Wear the towel,’ I said

I again poured two more pots of water on him.

I gave him the lungi and shirt to him and asked him to wear it.

Luck favoured me. He was not a dumb guy like Naanu.

He was carefully observing and doing whatever was told to him.

Poor boy, he can’t speak that’s all, I thought. No memory as well.

‘Aha! Just look at him. Now you look like a handsome boy,’ mom said. She bought another lamp and placed in the verandah.

‘The boy is not bad. He is following your orders. That’s enough. We had to repeat a thousand times to Naanu, even to do a menial job. It’s a good thing he left the place. Leave it, you are appointed, your job has started,’ mom said.

Mom asked me to hang his old clothes on a branch of an old tree.

The boy slowly walked towards the verandah and sat on the floor in a corner.

At that time, mom bought two tumblers full of rice and rasam.

The boys eyes gleamed at the sight of food.

Poor boy. I thought and had a vision of a boy in front of my eyes, who picked morsels from thrown away banana leaves.

For a hungry man, the food placed in front of him was real nectar. The one who feeds the hunger is God. The hungry won’t forget such moments. I recalled these words as told by my father.

Mom bought two plates and two more tumblers from the kitchen and placed it on the verandah.

‘Come and eat your dinner. This is your plate and glass. You should eat only in these utensils. Understood?’ mom asked.

She served him food.

As soon as the food was served, he pounced on the platter and ate the food in less than five minutes and walked away to wash his hands.

‘Oye! Where are you going? What about the other plates and glasses. Wash it and place it in a corner of the verndah. The water is near the bucket near the well,’ mom said.

The boy quickly cleaned everything and placed in the corner of the verandah.

I too finished my dinner and was feeling asleep. Today I travelled a lot. The boy was also yawning.

‘We need a mat and a pillow,’ I told mom.

My mom bought the mat and pillow belonging to my dad from inside.

‘Take this. You can use this,’ mom said.

The boy seemed tired and relaxed on the mat. He immediately started snoring.

“chinte illadavanige santheyallu nidde” (For someone who doesn’t have dreams can sleep anywhere, even at a busy market place),’ mom said.

I went inside and slept on my dad’s bed. After his death I was using his bed. Until then, I was sleeping on the verandah. Since there was sea near my house, there was no trouble of mosquitoes. I had opened the side window. There was a cool breeze coming from the sea. I could listen to the sea washing the shore. It was beating the rocks one after the other in a rhythmic pattern. I never seen a stop for this rhythmic beats, at least in my life, I thought. Whether sun or rain, day or night, it was the same, this rhythmic beats. It was as if the Supreme Being’s maaya.

I did not sleep immediately. I was thinking of the day’s happenings lying down.

‘Who is this boy? Why did he come? How did he come and that too from that far?’ I thought.

‘To reach his native place, one need to travel a day at least. From where did he get the money from?’ I thought.

‘Perhaps sending a letter to his address would do. Maybe a card would do. Maybe someone might read that. If the post card reaches his village, someone might recognize him. Sukumaran is at this house. Please come and contact me.’ I thought with contentment.

I decided to write this and send it the next morning.

I woke up at 6 am in the morning. I could hear the temple bells from the Bhagavathi temple. Just ahead of the house is a wasteland filled with sand. It was over a mile and if one crosses it, one could see the majestic Bhagavathi temple.

It is an age-old temple. They say Rani Abbakka had come to this temple to offer her prayers.

The morning sun slowly started to brighten the horizon. I glanced towards the verandah.

‘Arrey, what a cheat. Where is the boy? As he escaped with any of our belongings?’ was my instant thought as I saw nobody in the verandah.

I looked towards the well. No sign of him. I looked at the gate. There was a lock on the gate. Mom would have locked it before going to bed. I looked at the cow shed. The lamp was glowing. Mom would have started work at the cow shed. I didn’t find him there even. I went to the back of the house.

‘Ha,’ I said and took a deep breath. ‘Here he is, he didn’t go anywhere,’ I said.

 He was seated beneath the tree.

‘Maybe he went to do his morning business,’ I thought.

‘Look there boy, that is the latrine. You can use that to do your business. You don’t have to do it beneath the tree. This is the place where one walks and trod. There is a bucket inside the latrine. Draw your water from the well and pour it in the bucket.’

The boy nodded his head.

Mom finished her work at the cow shed, brought milk in huge tumblers as she came outside.

‘Come, lets drink some coffee,’ she said.

‘Poor mom,’ I thought. She had woken up early and had been in the cow shed cleaning the cow dung, giving cows a bath, milking them etc.

‘Don’t forget to carry milk while you go to work,’ mom reminded.

‘Today is a holiday mom.’

‘Oho! I almost forgot. Today is Sunday, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Alright, give the milk tumbler. I’ll go sell it at the hotel.’

After a little while, mom brought coffee. She placed it on the verandah. Me and the boy drank.

‘From today you start your job. Today onwards you have to draw water and pour five pots to each sapling,’ she said. But the boy remained still, as if he never understood.

I drew a couple of pots of water from the well and showed it to the boy.’

The boy started his work.

We had 20 coconut saplings and trees in our property. It is four or five years and there was no sign of coconuts. There was also a mango tree, chickoo and jack fruit trees. We had one acre of land. After my father’s death, mom would alone water it, manure and nurture it. No one was willing to help us with these tasks.

Naanu ran away after my father’s death. He mostly worked with my father. My father was a blacksmith. He used to make iron knives, and items for boats and making nails of various sizes was his main job. At that time, his shop was at Ullal town. After his death, no one opened the doors of his shop. Mom also used to work with him at the shop. Today since it was a holiday, I was working at a leisurely pace. Time passed by teaching the jobs to the boy.

The boy was involved only in watering plants. I went to Ullal jetty to Mohammed Kakas hotel to supply milk.

‘Amma, I’am back,’ I said.

‘Come, if you need to go anywhere, eat your breakfast and go,’ mom said

The boy seemed to have finished his work. His dress was all wet.

‘Just see to it that he wears other clothes,’ mom said. ‘Give him dad’s clothes, else he might fall sick.’

There were a few lungis belonging to dad. I took one of my shirt and gave it to the boy.

‘Here change your clothes. You are standing in wet clothes,’ I said.

I gave him a washing soap to wash the clothes. He was silently doing all the tasks. After washing, and bathing he came and sat in the verandah.

Mom bought breakfast from the kitchen. There was idly and sambar. We both ate the breakfast.

‘Will you work here?’ I asked him. He didn’t respond. ‘I will search for your address. Don’t be afraid,’

The boy nodded as if he understood.

‘From here onwards, we will call you Kumara, understood?’

‘Do you know what your tasks are?’ The boy looked at me with innocence writ large on his face.

‘Wake up at 5 am, clean the cow shed, remove the cow dung, wash the cows and water the plants. And in the evening, you will need to repeat the same task. Understood?’

The boy just nodded his head for everything

Tomorrow is Monday. I had to go to Mangalore for work. I told mom to be careful with Kumara. I don’t know how long he will stay here. Let a few days pass. Let’s see if he is really interested to work. If not, he might just walk away without informing us. But, I doubt that. Since he is educated, I think he might not leave. Something might have happened with him. He is not a dumb boy by birth.

I told about the boy to Postman Chandru. He said let’s wait for two weeks. I couldn’t go to the post office on Monday. I had work at Subarayana Naiks garage. They paid me once a week. I receive my wages of a hard week on Saturday. I give that to my mom. My mom hands me 20 rupees as pocket money. I should purchase the post card at lunch time. After two days I bought the post card from the post office.

I was wondering if to write in English or Malayalam. His village is in Panjikad at Allepey. It is in Kerala. I think it’s better to write in Malayalam.

A boy called Sukumaran is with us. If u want to meet him, please contact me at the below mentioned address and meet me.

I wrote my address in bold letters.

The next morning, I showed it to Chandru and posted it.

One month passed by. There was no response. Kumara was doing his daily tasks diligently with enthusiasm. Mom opened our shop with Kumaras help and started to do small tasks. Two months passed. No answer.

Mom was treating Kumara as if her own son. She was giving him food on time. During Vishu, she bought him new dress. By this time, the boy had become very smart. But he was not speaking.

I was scared. I was thinking whether sending him back to his house was the right thing to do. But laughed at it.

‘Do you want to go home. I wrote a card to your house. If someone comes from your house, you are free to go. However, if no one comes, I’ll still send you there. You can go to your village alone,’ I said. ‘If you catch the morning train, you will reach Allepey by nightfall. It’s just the one train. If you sit, then, you can get down at Allepey.’

I saw a smile on his face.

Who can’t be happy? After all meeting your parents is something which a child would cherish.

I enquired the train fare to Allepey. The train moves at 5 am. It starts from Mangalore.

On Saturday night, I packed his clothes, utensils in a bag.

‘We have to leave the house at 4 am. The railway station is at Someshwara. It is two miles from Ullal town. We have to go by walk,’ I said.

As we left house, mom was crying.

‘Once you reach Allepey, ask your parents to write a letter to us,’ mom said.

Then she bade him goodbye.

‘Son, don’t send him. If this dumb guy goes anywhere else. We will be responsible,’ mom tried a final attempt to stop him leaving the place.

‘Nothing like that mom, he knows to write in English. Being with us he has become smart. Although he remembers less. We can’t tie him here forever and arrest his independence. If he was a fool or a retard, then, it is another thing. ‘

I took the ticket and asked him to keep it safely.

‘Show the ticket only to the TTR. Don’t give this to anyone,’ I said. ‘Take this 30 rupees for your expense ‘.

The train came on time. It’s a steam engine train and a passenger train. It stops at all stations.

I boarded him and made him sit in a safe corner. There were only two or three passengers in the bogey.

My mom had placed two packets of food. One for the morning and the other for the afternoon. I showed him that.

‘Eat while you are hungry,’ I reminded him that.

I checked his baggage to ensure everything was in place.

The bell rang on time and the train started to move at the sight of railway guard showing the green flag.

I saw the train move in length. I could see the light of the train disappear in the dark. I stood watching it and took a deep breath.

Poor mom, she is all alone. There is nobody to help her now. I don’t think it was a bright idea to send Kumara away. I think I’am destined to help mom.

Its nearly a month since Kumara left. I was working with mom at our shop. I was working on the knives ordered by the local fishermen. I could see it forge in the furnace. There was a blower attached to a cycle wheel. If I rotate the cycle, the blower would blow the air to the furnace. I was using coal to burn the furnace. My job is to rotate the cycle. Mom removed the now reddish knives from the furnace and started hitting the red-hot area softly with a hammer.

This knife was blunt and they had given it to sharpen it.

If we sharpen one knife, she gets one anna. Since Sunday was a holiday for me, she used to do these tasks on that day.

After Sukumaran left, she could not come to the shop on any other day apart from a Sunday.

‘Kumbakka, see who has come? Someone from Kerala has come to meet you.’

I stopped rotating the cycle wheel and came out running. Two middle aged people were standing there. They seemed to me like husband and wife. They have come in search for Kumara, maybe? I think they would have come to visit us after receiving the card, maybe?

‘Who are you? what do you want?,’ I asked them.

‘Who is Raman?’ the man asked.

‘Its me. What brings you here?’ I asked him in Kannada.

‘We don’t know Kannada. Do you speak Malayalam?’ he questioned.

‘Oho! Malayali are you? What is that you want?’ I asked.

The gentleman took the postcard from the pocket and showed it to me. It was the postcard which I had sent.

‘Are you Sukumaran’s parents?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Where is Sukumaran? Is he not here?’

‘I sent him to your place last month.’

‘Last month?’ he questioned. The man looked at the lady’s face. She seemed disappointed and started weeping.

‘Why? What happened?’ I asked.

‘I’am Velayudhan. She is my wife Saraswathi. The boy whom you referred as Sukumaran, is our child. He never reached home though,’

My heart started to pound. I didn’t know what to do. I was feeling pity, angry and scared at the same time. What were they doing with this card for so many days? It’s been 30 days since he boarded the train.

‘It’s been a month since I sent you the card. What were you doing so far?’

‘Good Lord, where would have my son gone,’ the lady started wailing. It reminded me the same scene when my mom cried upon my dad’s death.

‘What mistake have I done. I never got a chance to meet him,’ she said.

‘I got the card just two days back. Your card was at the post office for so many days. It was noticed by the postman who just came back from holidays. That postman knew about Sukumaran very well,’ Velayudhan said and started crying.

I was in trouble.

At one end was their sadness, at the other end it was my mom’s future remarks.

It was not necessary I thought. I shouldn’t have sent him in a hurry. If he was at this place the boy would have been with his parents.

‘Forgive me Velyaudhan etta,’ I said.

‘What is the point of forgiveness, my dear sir. Now where do I search for him?’

At that time the postman Chandru came.

‘Chandranna. There was a big mistake. These are Sukumaran’s parents. They came in search for him,’ I said

‘Chey. All the good work is spoilt now. Where do we search for him now. Ramanna we did a big mistake,’ Chandru said.

When I heard that I felt sad.

‘Come, lets go to the house. Don’t worry. Sukumaran won’t go anywhere, he will surely come. He is a smart boy. He knows to write English very well,’ I said.

I gave the three knives which I was working on to Padma, and got the three annas.

The lady was still crying. The townsfolk was looking at her.

‘There is no point in discussing anything. It’s been a month since Sukumaran left. Is it now that you visit us?’ mom asked. ‘Come. Let us go home.’

We went home.

I drew water from the well and gave the water to our guests to wash themselves. I gave them a towel to wipe. They wiped themselves and went inside. I placed the mat and everyone sat on it.

I didn’t speak about Sukumaran. I wanted to talk about his tasks, his eating place and his resting space to them. But, I didn’t feel like telling them all that.

They looked disappointed.

‘He can’t speak,’ I said to start a conversation.

‘What? He can’t speak?’ Velayudhan asked.

‘But, he speaks well. And he is well educated. Had studied till SSLC,’ he said.

‘I felt that. He had good knowledge of English. The address was given by him,’ I said.

‘He had a bicycle shop at Panjikad town. It was a good standing business. Most of the townsfolk were his friends too. Also, he had a land of about 10 acres. There was no shortage of money. Some five or six months back, his friend had come to meet him from the military. He had said he was from a nearby village. All the while, he was with my boy at his shop. He was roaming with my boy. Even they dined together. He used to come home only after dusk. I felt he had started drinking. Since he was our only child, I had raised him up with love and care. I was searching for a suitable bride for him. He had kept some money for that. For some reason he wanted to go to Madras to get new bicycles for his shop. That too with that military friend. He said he wanted to buy some clothes and other items. On April 14, a Friday, on a Suryamana Ugadhi, both ate their lunch and left for Madras. They never returned. It’s been six months now,’ Velaydhan said and both husband and wife started crying.

Even my eyes were filled with water.

‘We went to Madras and spoke with the cycle dealer. The dealer told me that he had never reached his shop. Then whom do we ask?’

‘The military boy had told us that he was from the nearby village. So, I went to his village and found his house. But, he wasn’t there. He had left for the military camp. His name was Shankar who worked as a military Havaldhar. He was from a poor family. His parents and three sisters survived on Shankar’s salary. I told him about my son. They told me that they never knew if his son had a friend like Sukumaran. But he had told that he used to go to Panjikad. Our hard wok went in vain. I also asked his other friends and they too are not aware of his absence. What they said was he had visiting Madras with his military friend. Some say they stayed in a posh hotel and decided to spend time making merry. But, they don’t know in which hotel he had stayed,s and where he went from there, what happened with all the money he had, nobody knows. Losing money was not a problem, but, the boy itself is missing,’ he said.

I kept silent for a long time.

‘We will leave tomorrow morning. If some good-hearted people like you find him and let us know, it would be our luck. You looked after him for so many days and we are thankful for that. I wish God grants the same helping nature to others as well,’ he said.

I gave Sukumaran’s mat and bed sheet to them. They slept on that.

I left to the railway station and they took the ticket of the same train. They boarded the train in disappointment. The train moved at the strike of the bell. I saw the train go in length, I waved at them.

In the journey of our life, what all happens. I feel pity for them and their expectations. All is destroyed now. Hope my small contribution would do good for them, my God.

I prayed and walked in the morning mist with heavy feet trodding the ground. I walked home for yet another busy day of my life trying to forget Kumara, although I should say that it was a tad difficult. But life goes on and on.