Scattered Fates, Ram Garikipati [black male authors TXT] 📗

wide. It is the most heavily militarized border in the world, and the buffer zone is strewn with mines, so no one can cross over to either side,’ Naga replied.

‘Isn't it dangerous?’

‘So what? People still live there, and it was the best retirement place that we could afford. The houses we chose were on a hillock, overlooking the Arabian Sea, with wonderful beaches. They were cheap precisely because they were close to the DMZ,’ Ganapathy said.

‘My mother never told me we have a house in Goa,’ Naga said surprised.

‘That is because you don't. Our wives were worried about the DMZ and convinced us to sell the houses, they preferred to settle down in Chennai.’

‘So you sold the houses?’

‘That’s right, we recovered our investments.’

Maya realized that this was the perfect time to show him the old photograph. Before leaving for the meeting, she had discussed with Naga, and they agreed that it was the best way to make Ganapathy talk.

‘Sir, was this taken in your house?’ she asked, handing him the photograph.

Ganapathy looked at it and smiled, as the old memories flooded him.

‘Not mine, Subbaiah's house. I would not have tolerated ugly paintings in my drawing room.’

‘It is a Hussain painting, I still have it, and it is worth a lot of money now,’ Naga jumped to his father’s defense.

‘That is because art has become commercialized. I would not waste a rupee for this painting. The value is not for the art but for the artist's signature. Even his own country threw him out, poor chap is a refugee in some Arab country I heard.’

‘Who is the third person in this photograph?’ Naga asked, not wanting to argue on the merits of the painting any further. Moon had told him that it looked like her father, but he still needed conformation. It could still have been Venkatramaiah, Ganapathy's roommate in Seoul.

‘Why, that is poor Moon, your father,’ he replied looking at Maya. ‘I still remember the dinner party. It was just before the whole agitation started. Little did we know the turmoil that would engulf our country…’

‘Did you know my father well?’

‘Of course, I told you the other day, he was a dear young man. He was staying in Subbaiah's home after the university closed, and the agitation became violent.’

‘He told me he returned back to Corea because of the problems.’

‘He did, but not before staying with us for a few days. He was injured in a stampeded on Marina Beach, and was recovering during the initial phase of the war. As soon as he got better, we packed him off home.’

‘Did you meet him in Seoul when you went to teach at SNU?’

‘Of course, we met him. He was the one who sheltered us and helped Subbaiah settle down.’

Shocked, Naga and Maya looked at each other.

‘What do you mean helped Subbaiah settle down? My father is settled down in Seoul?’ Naga anxiously asked, raising his voice.

Realizing the slip, Ganapathy, put a finger to his mouth looking sideways to see if anyone was around.

‘Not so loud, people will hear us.’

‘So he never defected to Hindustan. It was all a big lie, as I had thought? Why is he hiding in Corea?’ Naga asked, his voice quivering in excitement.

‘No, he went to Hindustan alright, but he did not defect and neither was he kidnapped.’

This was getting a little too confusing for Naga. Subbaiah could not have gone as a tourist alone without his wife. Then how did he go to Hindustan and finally land up in Corea? Why did he not come back to his own country?

Ganapathy realized the turmoil in Naga's head and decided that it was time to reveal everything. There was no point in holding on further. A son had the right to know the truth about his father.

‘Listen to me without any interruption,’ he said looking sternly at Maya. ‘Whatever questions you have, I will clarify at the end of my story. Both dutifully nodded their heads.

As Ganapathy started narrating his story, his memory jogged back, vividly recalling minute details.

A little while ago, I mentioned about our plans to remain neighbors after retirement, and the opposition we faced from our wives after we made the purchase. I also told you that we sold the houses and recovered our investment. Well, we sold it the same day that Subbaiah disappeared.

The previous morning, I received a call from our property dealer saying that a buyer had expressed interest in our properties, and was ready to sign the papers in 24 hours. We were excited, because we had been trying to offload it for two months and no one was willing to take the risk of staying so close the border.

Since it was vacation time at the university, we left immediately and caught the nine o'clock train to Mangalore. We reached at around midnight, and then took a bus to Panjim. By the time we reached Panjim, it was afternoon, and after lunch, we had to take another bus and private jeep to go to Arambol town which was around 30 kilometers away. It was a very small town and in those days there was just one lodge, so we checked in and then went to meet the shopkeeper, who doubled as our property dealer, at around 5 in the evening.

It was the monsoon season and the rains were lashing around in full force, but we had no option, if we did not finish the deal that day, then we would have to come back in a months time, as the new buyer was leaving for England on business.

The buyer agreed to meet us at our houses, near the sweet water lake, as he had some other transactions to complete in the area.

We were soaking wet when we reached the shop, so we bought a bottle of caju feni to keep ourselves warm. Neither of us had tasted liquor before, but the shopkeeper assured us that it was a traditional drink with very little alcohol content. We sort of enjoyed the taste of cashew fruit and finished it inside the shop, Subbaiah decided to buy two more bottles for later. The shopkeeper downed his shutters and gave us a ride in his battered old car.

It took us twenty minutes to reach our property on the hilltop and the businessman was waiting for us. He had the checks ready, and we completed the formalities without any problem.

Just as were about to leave, Subbaiah had an idea. Now that the houses were no longer in our names, he asked the businessman for permission to stay the night there. He wanted to finish the bottles of feni, enjoying the sea view. Moreover it was raining heavily. The new owner had no objection, since we promised to hike back to our lodge the first thing in the morning.

We spent the night in my old house, since it had a fireplace. Nothing eventful happened, but we discussed about politics and other academic issues, enjoying feni on the balcony overlooking the Arabian Sea.

I recall we had a very intense discussion about the economic path that Dravida had chosen. He had serious misgivings about the policy directions under our first Finance Minister Raja Chellaiah. During the civil war, Raja was a professor at the University of Rajasthan, he quit his job and returned to Madras as Anna's economic advisor. When MGR was forming the first government after elections in 1971, there was tie between Subbaiah and Raja for the position.

At that time the party was divided into 2 factions- those loyal to MGR and those loyal to Karunanidhi. Although Raja was apolitical, since Subbaiah was seen as an MGR man, the Karunanidhi faction backed him for the job. To keep the party from splitting, MGR had to make Raja his finance minister.

It was big shock for Subbaiah, and he refused other honorary positions in the government, preferring to continue teaching at Madras University. At the same time, he was also trying to win back the support of the Karunanidhi faction, so that he could become finance minister in the second MGR term. He loved finding faults with Raja and tried to argue that we are not ready for an American-style capitalist society. Raja's supporters in turn accused him of being a Communist.

Make no mistake, he was against Indira's rule and had no sympathy for the communists. He only wanted a more humane capitalist system that also benefitted the poor and underprivileged.

Our discussion continued well into the early morning and before we realized, it was early morning. We did not have a wink of sleep, but we decided to set out for our lodge. It was still slightly dark, and we had to reach Panjim by 10 O'clock to catch the bus to Mangalore, and we had no other option.

It had stopped raining, but the road leading down from my house was still slushy. We slipped many times on the way down and scraped our knees badly. As we reached the foothills, we saw a stream nearby and decided to wash ourselves of the grime. We cleaned ourselves up, and realizing that we not come across another water body for at least half an hour till our loge, we decided to complete our morning ablutions before proceeding.

We took opposite directions to hide behind bushes and finish our business. I completed my task rather quickly and came back to the pre-destined spot. Since Subbaiah had complained of constipation, the night before, I thought he needed more time.

I waited for around ten minutes, until I could spot the morning sun in the horizon, and then shouted out his name, but there was no response. I shouted three more times and then got worried that he may have slipped into the stream.

I went in the direction of his bush. There was no fresh night soil, but I noticed that there was a circular hole in the ground next to the bush. Around a meter in diameter, it was big enough for a human body to slide in. His footprints in the mud ended at the entrance of the hole.

I recalled the 1973 war with Hindustan, when they discovered four tunnels along the DMZ: Pernem, Goa; Belgaum, Karnataka; Ruyyadi and Goppili in Andhra Pradesh.

Bored through 3.5 kilometers of bedrock at a depth of 50-160 meters below ground, the tunnels were reinforced with concrete slabs and capacity to move an entire regiment per hour through it. They were lit with lamps connected to 220-volt power lines. Equipped with a narrow-gauge railway, rail cars and drainage devices were also found inside.Clearly they had been constructed by Hindustan to prepare for a surprise attack on Dravida along different sections of the DMZ.

This was smaller than the previous ones, but big enough for Hindustanis to sneak into Dravida. I knelt down and shouted Subbaiah's name into the tunnel, but there was no response. He had disappeared. I waited for an hour, hoping he would turn up. When he did not, I left, so as to not miss my bus.

My first instinct was to inform the police about the tunnel and explain Subbaiah's disappearance. On the way back to the lodge, it occurred to me that it might not be such a good idea after all.

His opponents were already calling him a communist, and they would spread further rumors that he had voluntarily escaped to Hindustan. He was also carrying on him the check from the sale of his house. The money was quite substantial.

If the police investigated, they could easily deduce that he had bought the house with full knowledge of this tunnel, and had decided to escape after completing some spy work for Hindustan and selling the house. I myself would be a prime player in this conspiracy, so I decided to keep quite.

I went to the police station at Madras Central and lodged a report saying that after we got down from the train, a few people approached Subbaiah and forced him to follow them. That is the last I saw of him.

Naturally they assumed