“I met Arikkad and the others in the cell I was to belong to. We desperately needed more weapons. We had only five rifles, two revolvers, and some homemade bombs between a dozen men. You can’t be an armed struggle without arms. We planned two raids. One was on a police substation and armory, so we could be armed. The other raid was pure revenge. Our target was C.T., the man who took Kochu paniyan’s land. C.T. had an office in town, and a bungalow on his estate. The bungalow was isolated, with an unobstructed view onto any approach from below. But we had a way from the side, through thick jungle. C.T. was probably armed. But we were too, and there were more of us.
“Arikkad was to raid the armory at the exact same time that our group attacked C.T. Just as our group cut through the barbed-wire fence and entered his estate, we heard the roar of an engine and saw C.T.’s car tearing away, disappearing down the mountain. The front door of the house sat ajar. Dinner was on the table, half eaten. C.T. had clearly been warned. We found his stash of ‘black’ money behind paneling, only because he didn’t close it flush with the wall. This was untaxed money he could never put in the bank. He must have grabbed what he could on his way out. We took two guns, then we set the bungalow on fire. We went, as we had planned, to a sympathizer’s hut, stashed the weapons and money, and waited. Soon, we got word about the other raid. The police had been waiting, and they ambushed Arikkad’s group as they approached the armory. Poor Raghu died on the spot. They retreated, chased by the police. Arikkad tossed a homemade bomb at the pursuing jeep, and he wounded a constable, disabling the vehicle. They split up and disappeared. Our group did the same. We left carrying no weapons so we could pass through towns without being noticed. It was a total failure.
“I spent one night sleeping outdoors. At noon the next day, I reached the rendezvous spot on a trail high up in the mountains. I was hungry, scared, and angry. I knew this meeting place could be compromised. No one was there. Just when I thought I better leave, Arikkad appeared, looking so terribly weary. He asked if I had food. All I had was water. His skin was full of bites, worse than mine. He said the police were probably not far behind, but they wouldn’t leave the main road at night. Still, we couldn’t stay there. We had to eat, to sleep. He said he knew of a house, a few miles further up on the edge of a corporate plantation. Sivaraman was a friend from the ‘old days’—I assume, his prison days.
“It was one in the morning when we came to the edge of a clearing. When I saw Sivaraman’s house, something about it bothered me. I had a vision of ‘Manager’s Mansion’ with the bodies of my parents and sister inside. I could smell death. I tried to hold Arikkad back, but he said that if he didn’t get food or sleep, he was done for. He said he’d go first and signal me if it was safe, but I told him not to. That I’d stay outside in a tree and for him not to mention my presence. When Sivaraman opened the door for Arikkad, I was watching. Sivaraman was reluctant, but he let Arikkad in. I climbed the tree on the edge of that clearing. It took all my energy. I was ten feet above ground, wedged in a fork. I used my mundu to tie myself to the tree so I wouldn’t fall. Somehow, despite the cold, with my legs exposed and mosquitoes feasting on me, I fell asleep.
“One or two hours later, I woke up, suddenly alert. Crouching right under me was a constable with a rifle! He was unaware of me. He clicked his tongue—that was the sound that woke me. Two other constables appeared. Then I saw Sivaraman standing outside the house, waving them in.
“They dragged Arikkad out and clubbed him to the ground while Sivaraman watched. They bound his hands so tight that he cried out. I trembled with rage and fear. They marched him in my direction. I was sure my chattering teeth would give me away. They passed right under me. Arikkad kept his eyes on the ground. Something broke inside me.
“My legs had gone to sleep. It took forever for me to get down. I went to the house and pressed my mouth to the door. I called out, ‘Sivaraman, you betrayed a good man. You won’t live to spend the reward money. When you come out, we’ll be waiting.’ I heard him whimper. I hoped he would die of fright. Then on rubbery legs I went after the constables, staying far enough behind so they didn’t hear me. They raced down for the ghat road and an hour later, just as the sky turned lighter, they reached it and collapsed on the ground, exhausted. They gave Arikkad a banana. I got as close as I dared, concealing myself behind a neem tree growing back over a rock. If I sneezed, they’d have heard me. I thought of one plan after another to free Arikkad. But all were suicidal fantasies, Mariamma. I had no weapons. I was so weak.
“Soon after dawn two jeeps came. A DSP—big fellow—jumped out. He was so excited, congratulating the constables. He ran up to Arikkad and slapped him viciously. Arikkad grinned and said something. The DSP cursed him and kicked him. He ordered his men to shackle his ankles and put a sack over his head. Then I heard them arguing near the jeep. The DSP shoved the constable, the same one who’d been under my tree, and pulled out his revolver. Was he going to shoot his own man? I didn’t understand. But Arikkad understood, even with that hood on. ‘Edo, DSP?’ Arikkad shouted. ‘Be a man. Remove my hood first. Are you that much of a coward? Can’t you look me in the eyes before you do it?’
“The DSP marched up the slope to Arikkad, walking so deliberately. Mariamma, it was as though he knew that this wasn’t a clearing in the jungle but a world stage. Arikkad struggled to his feet, standing tall, despite the way his arms were wrenched behind him. The DSP snatched the hood away and spat words into Arikkad’s ear. Arikkad laughed.
“Then Arikkad shuffled with shackled feet to turn to face the spot where I was hidden! He knew I was there. He wanted me to bear witness. ‘Tell my comrades, tell the world,’ was what he was trying to tell me. The DSP took three steps to square off, his right arm ruler-straight by his side, the revolver pointed at the ground. I could see Arikkad’s face so clearly as he smiled at the DSP. That grin of his was more powerful than any weapon. The DSP planted his feet. Arikkad shouted, ‘OTHERS WILL CONTINUE THE STRUGGLE!’ I saw the DSP’s arm rise. ‘LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION—’ ”
Mariamma can hardly breathe, watching Lenin’s face, lit by the ghostly glow from the window.
“The shot was so loud. It echoed off the rocks behind me. I cried out. In disbelief. In rage. In anger. I was sure they heard me. My ears were ringing. Theirs must have been too. I saw them drag Arikkad’s body down the slope. None of the constables were happy. It was cold-blooded murder. They put his body in the back of a jeep. Even after they drove off, the ringing in my ears wouldn’t stop.
“I found the banana tucked under the rock where Arikkad had sat. I was sure he left it for me. I was weeping uncontrollably, I tell you. Somehow, I wrestled two stones of equal size to where the earth was stained dark with Arikkad’s blood. I found a flat, long rock and lifted it to straddle the other two. I stood there for so long before this memorial, this burden stone to my comrade in arms. It’s always the same answer, I thought to myself when I finally tore myself away from that place. Walk the straight path to its end.”
CHAPTER 66
The Dividing Line
1971, Mahabalipuram
Lenin soon falls asleep, as though by unburdening himself of these horrible events he has found a temporary respite. But Mariamma cannot do the same.