The House of Blue Mangoes (41 page)

This threw nationalist leaders in India into a dilemma. Mahatma Gandhi, the voice of the nation, was initially behind Britain as she fought to save the world from fascism but his support for the British grew rather less passionate when he realized that they still had no intention of giving up India in a hurry.

As with the other great movements of contemporary history, the prospect of a second global war left little impression on Doraipuram.

Kannan was in the second year of his pre-degree Intermediate course at the Bishop Caldwell College in Meenakshikoil. For the past three years, he’d been subjected to all manner of tutoring, all of which he’d found onerous. Lily or Ramdoss would engage teachers who would attempt to impart to him the unfathomable mysteries of mathematics, chemistry, history or whatever it was his father had decreed should be taught. Surprisingly, given his childhood failure at acquiring the language, he was quite proficient in English. Lily’s decision to transfer him to an English medium school had paid off. Nevertheless, his English tutorials were continued, at his father’s insistence. Kannan rather enjoyed them. Most of the other tutors didn’t last very long, as the pressure of trying to get Kannan up to Dr Dorai’s exacting standards grew too much for them. At these times, Lily would fill the breach, trying to teach him from textbooks. These makeshift tutorials would soon become storytelling sessions and it was at this time that Kannan was first introduced to the idea of Elsewhere.

Lily had always been somewhat distanced from her son, initially due to Charity’s obsession with him and later because of the varied distractions of Doraipuram, and she was delighted at the opportunity to spend time with Kannan. Like any adolescent, Kannan would have much rather been out with his friends but he didn’t have an option, given his father’s determination to improve him. But his initial restlessness in his mother’s company was soon displaced by the quality of the stories she told him. Stuck in hot humid Chevathar, she poured her longing for the misty tea estates of Nuwara Eliya into her elaborate tales. Every detail of her childhood acquired an exotic, enticing quality. She told of memorable parties held in planters’ bungalows that floated like great ocean-going ships, full of light and laughter, through the deep black Ceylonese nights. She remembered in loving detail beautiful English ladies in crinoline frocks and gentlemen in dinner jackets dancing and dining, while she and a few other children from the staff quarters gazed entranced through chinks in the hibiscus hedges. She described the annual Christmas parties that the white planters threw for their clerks and native subordinates, and the soft white hands of the General Manager’s wife as she distributed the presents.

These stories, and his English lessons, were the only aspect of his moulding that Kannan liked. For the rest, it was merely a matter of working out how he could get rid of the latest tutor. There would be a few weeks of reprieve before his father’s attention focused on him once more and the cycle began all over again. The tutoring had intensified recently and he sensed that some new development informed his coaching schedule, for the teachers were tougher, demanded more of him and were not so easily thwarted. He hoped his father’s plans, whatever they were, would allow him to continue at BCC. All his friends were planning to do so except Albert who wanted to study physics abroad. It would be awful if his father persisted with the idea of making him a doctor. Kannan didn’t fancy the idea of cutting up cadavers and besides, from what he’d heard, medical college was too much work.

For now, what was uppermost in his mind was the hockey match his team had to win against Ranivoor Arts College, if they were to stay in contention for a medal in the District Championships. As he was emerging from his room, hockey stick in hand, he heard raised voices from his father’s room. He paused to listen. ‘To think I’ve nurtured kraits in my midst,’ he heard Daniel roar. ‘You come here talking of love and brotherhood and friendship and then you dare tell me that you would like to sell your land to an outsider. I never expected you to sink so low, Miriam. Have you forgotten the lakhs I spent on your wedding and dowry? And when you came begging to me, saying this rascal had squandered all your money, have you forgotten how I practically gave you the land and house you’re living in? And now you want to sell! Let me make myself clear. If I hear another word from you about any of this, I will make you regret the day you ever brought it up. Get out, get out, I cannot bear the sight of you.’

There was silence, broken only by the sound of a woman’s noisy weeping. Time to go, Kannan thought. He was just about to ease himself past his father’s door when he heard footsteps and flattened himself against the wall. There was nowhere to hide and he was sure to be seen. The door was plucked open and first his aunt Miriam, fat and unsteady on her feet, rushed out followed by her diminutive husband. They looked neither right nor left, and he was sure he had escaped detection. He was congratulating himself on his narrow escape when a third person walked slowly out of the room. Ramdoss. His eyes met Kannan’s but he said nothing and walked away.

The next day Ramdoss invited Kannan to go for a walk with him. They went past the mango topes and then strolled along the river to the estuary. Ramdoss asked Kannan how he was faring at college, whether he’d made any plans. Nervously, Kannan said no. A few boys were swimming in the calm water, their heads showing above the grey surface. They watched them in silence for a while, then Ramdoss said, ‘You’re old enough now to take up your responsibilities. I’m glad you heard the altercation yesterday because it’s time you knew what things are really like here. Do you have any idea?’

‘Some,’ Kannan said cautiously.

‘You should know everything. It’s your father’s wish.’

They settled themselves on the river bank, and Ramdoss began his story. He quickly sketched the history of Doraipuram’s decline. He talked about the large sums of money that had been sunk into impractical schemes and sundry other expenses (dowries, marriages, births, deaths, bribes, gifts) and the declining returns from the patent medicines, especially the Moonwhite Cream that appeared to be reaching the end of its cycle. He told Kannan about the neglect of the business in the years that Daniel had spent nurturing the settlement, the brief period in which he had thrown himself back into it, Charity’s death and how much it had affected his father. ‘Daniel-anna never really recovered, thambi, and when he took charge again, his heart wasn’t in it. The final perfidy was when the family he had given his life and fortune to proved less than grateful. You heard your athai yesterday, didn’t you? That’s only the latest example. For at least five years now, there have been periodic outbursts by members of the family who have accused your father of gross neglect, dishonesty, even criminal negligence of their best interests. You boys and girls are fortunate, you have your youth and its marvellous concerns to shield you, but the truth is, Kannan, your father has need of you. He’s very tired and he wants to know that his dream can be transferred to his son.’

Kannan felt acutely alarmed by this. ‘But what do I have to do?’

Ramdoss smiled at his reaction. ‘Don’t be so nervous, thambi. All you need to do for the moment is apply yourself where your studies are concerned.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Kannan said.

‘Yes, you must,’ Ramdoss said, rising to his feet. ‘Your father says that you haven’t shown any interest in medicine so he’s decided to send you to one of the finest colleges in the Presidency. He wrote to his friend Chris Cooke in England a few months ago, asking his advice, and Mr Cooke recommended the Madras Christian College. It’s run by a Scottish missionary order. I know you’ve picked English up well, but the standards there are very high so I’m doubling the time you’ll spend in English tuition.’

‘But why do I have to go so far away, mama . . .’

Ramdoss held a hand up for silence. ‘Let me finish. Because you have no interest in medicine, Daniel-anna has decided you should take a degree in botany. He feels it’ll help you get a basic knowledge of plants and herbs, and the rest you can pick up when you start working with him. You’ll be at the Madras Christian College a few months from now. We’ve already been in touch with the principal, Dr Boyd. What do you think?’

Fortunately a servant came running up to say Ramdoss was wanted by Daniel so Kannan, dumbfounded as he was by the abruptly revealed future, was spared the necessity of answering.

64

Kannan’s first day at Madras Christian College in Tambaram was a disaster. Having deposited him at his hostel, Bishop Heber Hall, Ramdoss had left him. Within hours of his departure, Kannan had begun to feel alone and off-balance. He’d never travelled so far from home before and he found the experience disconcerting. Madras, where they had spent a few days before travelling on to Tambaram, had been the first major shock, with its enormous press of people and buildings and houses on a scale he could never have imagined. Before he could take it all in, he was transported to this new environment, and Ramdoss-mama, the last vestige of his old life, was gone. He remained in his room for a long time, slowly unpacking his holdall and big black steel trunk, trying to draw comfort from the contents. Most of his clothes were new, stitched by two tailors from Madras who had arrived in Doraipuram and worked around the clock for a week. Daniel had wanted his son’s wardrobe to be in no way less than appropriate to the standards of the college. His mother had packed three bottles of home-made mango pickle and a few bags of murukku and sweets, and he arranged these on the shelf in his room. A bottle of hair oil, some other toiletries, and he was done. Still he didn’t leave the room. He needed more time to summon up his usual confidence in these unfamiliar surroundings.

Towards evening he emerged from his room, walked rapidly to the bathroom at the end of the corridor, had a quick bath and returned. To his relief the bathroom and the corridors of the hall were quite deserted. He laid out a fresh shirt and lungi, carefully oiled and combed his hair, and then, just before he dressed, opened a bottle of pickle and inhaled deeply, breathing in Chevathar and the places and people he was homesick for. Then, steeling himself, he ventured down to the mess for supper.

The place was brightly lit, with long tables and benches. Serving boys scurried around, and a man behind a counter was bellowing orders to the kitchen. The dining area was about half full. A number of the young men seemed to know each other, which made Kannan feel even more lonely. It had been quite dark when he’d left his room and this was the first time he was getting a proper look at the students he would be spending the next three years of his life with. The majority were in trousers and shirts. For a moment he wished he had decided on trousers instead of a lungi. He’d been put down for the European mess, another of Daniel’s decisions to improve him, make him fit to be a success in British-ruled India. He asked a serving boy where it was and was waved to one corner of the hall. He headed for an empty bench. A couple of the students looked at him as he passed, but their gaze was incurious and he made it to the bench without drawing much attention to himself. As his confidence grew, he began to look around. The first-termers were easy to spot: they sat alone for the most part and ate without taking their eyes off their plates, while the others joked and laughed among themselves, catching up on their lives after the break. He tried not to make eye contact with anyone and waited for one of the serving boys to notice him. Eventually one of them came up and rattled off something in a mixture of Tamil and Malayalam; his accent was so pronounced and he spoke so fast that Kannan didn’t understand a word of what he said, so he nodded. The boy seemed satisfied and went away. The mess was filling up quickly now, and he wondered who would take the seat next to him. He hoped it would be a new boy. By the time he had left Bishop Caldwell College, he had been the undisputed king of the student body. Here he was a nobody, the lowest of the low, a junior without connections. What a comedown, he thought.

‘And what do we have here? A rustic from the mofussil with no manners!’ A loud voice to his right. Kannan had been looking down and he decided not to look up. The owner of the loud voice sounded very irritated.

‘Hey you, monkey-boy, I’m talking to you!’ He felt the heat of the other’s presence touch him and raised his head to see a hulking youth with a thick black moustache and longish hair. His brown eyes were furious.

‘Don’t you know it’s impolite not to stand up in the presence of a senior? Especially if you’re sitting in his place?’

‘I didn’t know these places were reserved,’ Kannan said in genuine puzzlement.

‘I didn’t know these places were reserved,’ the senior mimicked in a high falsetto.

Anger began to disperse Kannan’s confusion. ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘there’s no need to insult me, I didn’t know this was your place.’

‘My, my, the village idiot is angry. Tip-top. How shall we soothe his anger?’ the senior said, his voice mocking. ‘Aha, I know how. Samuel, get me some special Tambaram grapes for our honoured guest.’ One of the boys standing behind the senior ran out of the mess.

The place grew very quiet. Every clatter of cutlery was stilled, as was every voice. The serving boys froze where they were and even the man behind the counter stopped his orchestration of dinner. The boy who had left the mess returned with his fists full of unripe neem berries. He handed them to the big senior. Looking around to check that there were no lecturers or tutors present to thwart his plans for the upstart, the bully funnelled the berries through his hands on to Kannan’s empty plate.

‘Mr Lionel Webb presents his compliments, sir, and hopes very much that you will partake of his humble offering.’

Kannan stared at the yellow-green berries on his plate. Dirt stuck to some of them; twigs and leaves were liberally sprinkled among the fruit. Not even goats would eat unripe neem berries, they were so bitter and acrid.

He began to rise from the bench but Lionel slammed him back down. ‘I said eat, you little pisser. This will teach you to play the fool with Lionel Webb.’