EXULTATION
Reproduced without permission from "The Plough and the Stars: Stories from Tamilnad". Editors: K. Swaminathan, Periaswami Thooran, and M.R. Perumal Mudaliar. Asia Publishing House, New York, 1963.
Part-1 of 3
That was a local shuttle train which ran from Tiruchi to
Mayavaram. Its life began every morning at 10:30 and ended at 3
in the afternoon. After sending out the trains to Madras, Mana-
madurai and Erode, the deserted Tiruchi Junction was bare, deso-
late, and still like a garden after a storm. Banana skin, orange
peel, balls of paper, leaves from which people had eaten and
drowsy passengers-that was all you could see on the platform when
the shuttle trains got ready to go. There was half an hour left
for the train to start. The engine had not yet been attached nor
had the guard put in his appearance. In every compartment could
be seen, sleepy and sprawling, a passenger or two, unkempt and
dirty. A family which had arrived from Bangalore by the Express
train had left their luggage in a second-class compartment and,
having asked some one to keep an eye on it, had gone somewhere.
When an express train leaves, what a crowd there is to give a
noisy send-off; when it arrives what a hearty, festive welcome it
receives! But, this shuttle train; it was second rate. Among
railway trains also, it is clear, there are rich and poor, high
and low.
I was sitting alone in this train, in the last compartment
but one. Beside me lay my son, sound asleep. Near his head on the
bench lay the orange which had slipped out of his hand. I could
not help smiling when I saw that orange. You see, it had a story
to it. I was bringing my son home from his maternal uncle's house
in Bangalore where he had been taken by his aunt for a holiday.
When we were waiting for our train at the Bangalore City station
along with his uncle who had come to see us off, my son, seeing
an orange seller, had pulled me by the hand and said: "Daddy,
buy me an orange, please Daddy." My brother-in-law had pretended
not to have heard him and turned his head away in another direc-
tion. Knowing his uncle's nature well, I had quited my son with a
stern look. He had taken the hint and subsided at once. But no
sooner had the train started than he began demanding his orange
again. After all, he was only six.
"Daddy."
"Yes, my boy?"
"Uncle Pichu gets Rs. 900 a month, doesn't he?" he said.
"Yes, and so?"
"When I asked for the orange at the station he looked away. He
didn't buy me the orange."
"Perhaps he didn't hear you. If he had heard he would have bought
it for you."
"I said it quite loud, Daddy, I did."
"Then why do you suppose he didn't buy it for you?" I retorted.
That quited him for the moment, but only for the moment.
"I asked him for a tricycle" he began again, "and he said he'd
buy me one, but, he didn't."
"Well now," I said mollifyingly, "why should uncle Pichu buy you
a tricycle? I will buy one for you."
"But, how can you, Daddy?"
"Why not?"
"Your pay is only Rs. 100 a month."
"And who" I asked sternly, "told you that?"
"Uncle Pichu said that."
"Do you mean to tell me that Uncle Pichu came and told you, 'Look
here, your father gets only Rs. 100 a month'?"
"He didn't tell me, Daddy, he told Aunty. You wrote a letter from
Madras on Vinayaka Puja day, do you remember? He told Aunty then.
They said you go to Madras too often. They said you couldn't even
afford to buy a piece of string for my waist."
I thought this had gone far enough.
"That will do now," I said, dismissing the subject. "Why don't
you sleep for some time?"
"Will you buy me a motor car?"
"Yes, I will."
"Not a real one, Daddy, but, the toy one which you wind with a
key."
"Yes, yes, I know. I will buy you one."
A moment's silence.
"Daddy," he said again, "I want an orange."
"Go to sleep now," I said gently. "As soon as we reach Tiruchi I
shall get you one."
"No. Now."
"Look, where am I to get an orange now? The train is moving."
"All right then," he said, "tell me a story."
"That is better," he said, "I will tell you a good story. Now
then. Once upon a time ....." I began. Halfway through the story
the boy fell asleep.
"That's a smart boy you have," said the gentleman in the opposite
seat suddenly. "Very shrewd study of human nature that was."
"Yes," I said, amused. "Look at the size of his head!"
There was no doubt of it. The boy's head was bigger than
normal size. He had a bright face and clear-cut features and a
healthy, chubby body. His skin was as soft as a tender leaf. The
velvety down on his cheeks was clearly visible in the dim light
of the railway compartment. His curly hair fell in ringlets over
his forehead. He was certainly a beautiful child.
He was going to see his mother the very next afternoon but
yet, to me, at that moment, he somehow seemed so destitute. A
child without its mother has a lacklustre look. This thought
moved me to fondle my sleeping son gently. How could Uncle Pichu,
I asked myself angrily, have had the heart to deceive an inno-
cent child like this? Miser, Miser! From the day he went to work,
Pichu had earned for himself this reputation. But, should he
impress even a child as being a miser? Every time I looked at the
child's face, I felt deeply sorry. After all, when you come to
think of it, it was a triffling matter, but, I could not bear it.
I knew the tricks and guiles which Pichu practised. All his life
he had one thing in mind and spoke another. I knew also his
"success" in running a family, without being frank even to his
wife. All these thoughts swarmed like bees in my head, making
sleep impossible.
The first thing I did when the train reached Tiruchirappalli
was to buy the orange.
"Daddy," begged my son, "let me eat this orange after we go home.
Mother will peel it and put the pulp, piece by piece on my palm."
"All right, do that," I said.
There was still half an hour for the train to start. Feeling
thirsty, I went out and drank my fill of cool water and got my-
self some 'pan' to chew.
When I got back to my compartment, a lady was just getting
in, accompanied by a little girl. They settled themselves in the
bench opposite.
"This is the train which goes to Mayavaram, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is."
"When does it start?"
"In about 25 minutes."
"How far are you going?" asked the lady.
"I am going to Kumbakonam."
"Your son?"
"Yes."
"He is fast asleep."
"We are coming from Bangalore. He's tired."
"Will you also sleep?" said the lady to the little girl.
"No, auntie,I am not sleepy," said the girl.
"I think you had better sleep for a while, child. We are going to
be in the train all night. And then you have two more days of
journey ahead."
"No, auntie," said the girl, "I shall sleep later."
The lady was about forty, buxom, firm and rounded, like a
mango. She wore a pair of heavy, old-fashined, diamond ear-rings
and a diamond nose-screw. Round her neck lay seven or eight
strands of gold chain. On her wrists glittered as many gold
bangles. She was clad in an orange yellow silk saree. On her
fore-head, startingly clear was the kumkum mark. She made a
satisfying picture. Beside her was a leather suitcase and a new
iron oven.
The girl was an alarmingly thin child of about eight, with
arms and legs like sticks. Middling dark in complexion, oily,
with small eyes which looked perpetually sleepy. On her wrist
was a cheap, black, rubber bangle. She had aon a crisp new
cotton and a new blouse with a pattern of red flowers. Round her
neck was a chain of black glass beads. Her entire luggage con-
sisted of another skirt and blouse twisted into a bundle which
lay beside her.
Typed in by AV Suresh Posted by Vicky: UMass, Sep 07, 1993
Go to second part.