Song of the Cuckoo Bird: A Novel (42 page)

“What?” she asked, not having followed the conversation.

“The LTTE is helping Tamils,” Narayan Garu said. “Tell these girls that.”

“The LTTE is helping Tamils? Okay,” Charvi said, and shrugged when Narayan Garu made a sound of protest. “Narayan Garu, I don’t know anything about politics and it is beyond me. You should sit down and not get so agitated. It isn’t good at your age.”

“LTTE have assassinated many Sri Lankan leaders and so many Tamils have had to leave Sri Lanka to live in refugee camps since this civil war began,” Meena said. “Violence is not how problems are solved.”

“What would you know, you chit of a disrespectful girl?” Narayan Garu thundered. “How dare you go against what I say?”

Meena and Padma looked at Narayan Garu, unperturbed by his anger. “We believe what we believe, and you believe what you believe,” Padma said. “Our teacher said that people are divided about Rajiv Gandhi’s assassination, but you have to admit that it wasn’t right to kill the man.”

Narayan Garu looked in disgust at everyone sitting at the table and walked into his room.

“Next time don’t get into a debate with him,” Charvi instructed with a smile on her face. “He’s old and he’s not going to change.”

“Then he shouldn’t try to change us,” Meena pointed out.

Charvi nodded. “But he’s set in his ways. You have to be the older one here and let him say what he wants.”

Narayan Garu passed away that night in his room. Dr. Vishnu Mohan and the new local doctor, Dr. Lakshman Prasad, both determined that it looked like he had a heart attack. They weren’t surprised as Narayan Garu was almost eighty and had been having heart problems for years now.

“It’s just old age,” Dr. Lakshman Prasad said.

“So it wasn’t because he was angry?” Meena asked, her trembling upper lip caught between her teeth. “Padma and I . . . we argued with him yesterday and . . . we . . .” She burst into tears then.

“No, no, it wasn’t because of an argument,” Dr. Lakshman Prasad said, looking around at the women of Tella Meda for help in calming Meena down. “He was quite old, he was ready to go.”

Chetana put her arm around Meena and kissed her forehead. “He was an old man with one foot in the grave. Your argument didn’t put him there.”

“But next time, don’t go about yelling and arguing with old people,” Renuka said. “We die easily.”

There wasn’t anyone to really mourn Narayan Garu and his body was cremated quietly. His children didn’t show up to bury him but Narayan Garu had left provisions with Kokila in the form of his wife’s jewelry to pay for his funeral. He had said that any money left should go toward the keeping of Tella Meda.

There were a set of six thick gold bangles, two gold and ruby rings, and one pair of diamond earrings. Except for the diamond earrings, everything else was actually silver-plated with gold and not worth much. The stones in the rings were not rubies but red coral. Kokila found out the truth when she took the jewelry to the jeweler wanting to sell them to pay for Narayan Garu’s funeral. The diamond earrings brought in some money but the diamonds were small, less than half a carat each, and the money was all used up to pay for the funeral.

A Brahmin was hired to light the fire to Narayan Garu’s pyre as his own sons didn’t bother to do so.

Meena and Padma, feeling guilty about his death, cleaned up Narayan Garu’s room. There wasn’t much to clean. His clothes were given away to the poor and his books, those which Meena and Padma didn’t claim, were sold as waste paper. In all the years he lived in Tella Meda he had accumulated little and at the end there had been no one even to mourn or miss him.

Puttamma suggested that Balaji stay in Narayan Garu’s room and take care of the garden. He was twenty years old now and had recently married a young girl from Puttamma’s village, Karuna. If he and his wife could live in Tella Meda and take care of the garden and the housework, that could constitute rent. Balaji also had a job at a small printing press, which would suffice for their other expenses.

Kokila talked to Charvi about it and it was decided that Balaji and Karuna would take up residence in Narayan Garu’s room. Just a week after Narayan Garu died, his room was occupied again. This time with a woman’s touch.

Karuna took over all of Puttamma’s responsibilities and also offered to wash the dishes. Puttamma would still come to Tella Meda every day, mostly to gossip with the women there and check on her son.

“At my age I shouldn’t have to work,” Puttamma said to Kokila. “But I still have to clean houses and wash dishes. You save up for old age, okay? Being old and poor is just not good.”

“Being poor is just not good, no matter what your age,” Kokila said.

“Did you hear they are doing interrogations, even here, for the Rajiv Gandhi killing?” Puttamma said. “There were these two Tamils who came to stay with some friend or something in the
basti
and the police arrested them. They were from Sri Lanka, some refugee camp. No one has heard from them. People in my
basti
are scared, it used to be a safe area, now . . . ”

Kokila sighed. “God knows why people go about killing each other.”

Puttamma shrugged. “Balaji was telling me how what Rajiv Gandhi did in Sri Lanka when he was the PM was very bad. The Indian army’s soldiers killed men, raped women . . . not good what the army did.”

“They did that? Really? Are you sure?” Kokila asked.

Puttamma nodded. “The owner of the press where Balaji works, he is good friends with lots of important Tamils in Madras. He tells Balaji how things are in Sri Lanka. What do we know? We stay here and we don’t know anything.”

Kokila wasn’t sure if she should believe Puttamma and Balaji. On the other hand, she didn’t really care who did what in Sri Lanka. These days she was busy getting Karthik ready to start school in September. There were two schools in Bheemunipatnam and Kokila wanted Karthik to join the good one. It was a little expensive, but she would just hand over that thousand
rupees
Bangaru sent every month to the school if necessary. She wanted the best for Karthik and he was such a bright boy too. He had passed the good school’s entrance exam and had top marks.

Chetana thought the world was going to hell if four-year-olds were being asked to take exams.

The police and the Central Bureau of Investigation were determined to find the killers of Rajiv Gandhi. People with ties to the LTTE and supporters of the Tamil Eelam were being questioned routinely. Those who had carried out the assassination were still at large and a massive manhunt was on for a man named One-eyed Jack Shivrasan and a woman named Shubha who had been a backup human bomb.

Their pictures were plastered all over newspapers and transmitted on television.

“We’re keeping our eyes open,” Meena announced. “If they come to Bheemunipatnam, we know the direct phone number to the chief inspector’s office.”

Chetana sighed. “Why will they come all the way to this pit?”

“It could be quite a safe place,” Padma said seriously. “Not too many people live here and it’s far away from the city.”

“If I was running away I would hide in a big city,” Chetana said. Her younger daughter was influenced largely by Padma and Chetana couldn’t really complain. Meena’s marks in school were right next to Padma’s and they were always first and second in class, always competing with each other. They were constantly together, studying, and were the closest of friends. They reminded Chetana of how she and Kokila had run around Tella Meda.

“Somehow, I remember having a lot more fun than these two,” Chetana told Kokila while she watched her daughter and Meena argue over how to solve a mathematics problem. “These two are always studying. Do you see them do anything but study or talk like they know so much more than everyone else?”

Kokila smiled. “We should’ve also gotten a good education. Who knows how our lives would have turned out.”

“Bhanu’s turned out fine and she isn’t even metric pass. Didn’t want to go to college after tenth class and I didn’t press her,” Chetana said, and then nodded. “I know, I know. Can you imagine my daughter being a doctor? A prostitute’s granddaughter will become a doctor? Unimaginable!”

“There’s more to who she is than Ambika’s granddaughter,” Kokila said.

It was then that a hubbub could be heard coming from the temple room and front verandah. Kokila rushed to investigate when she heard Charvi call out for her.

“This inspector here says that Balaji is a terrorist,” Charvi told Kokila. “They want to arrest him. Do you know where he is?”

Kokila shrugged. “He usually goes to the printing press in the day. He should be back at four o’clock or so. But you must be mistaken, Inspector Garu. Balaji is a nice young man, not a terrorist.”

Padma and Meena peeked from the temple room and followed the proceedings carefully.

“We could be harboring a terrorist,” Padma whispered to Meena.

“I always thought Balaji was suspicious,” Meena agreed.

Charvi didn’t subscribe to Padma and Meena’s point of view and she let the inspector know it.

“Just because he sometimes says that he supports the Eelam doesn’t mean he’s a terrorist,” Charvi said. “The boy is a good boy and this is a free country, isn’t it?”

“These are heightened circumstances, Amma Charvi,” the inspector said politely. “Are you sure he isn’t here? Because the printing press is shut down and the owner, Murugan Murthy, is also missing.”

Kokila looked around helplessly. “We can go look for him if you like but—”

“Do you mind if my men and I have a look inside?” the inspector asked, and started to gesture at the two khaki-clad men who were accompanying him. “If you could show us his room . . . Amma Charvi, I mean no disrespect but you have to understand, a political leader was assassinated. We have to take all measures to catch the culprits.”

Kokila was followed by the three policemen as she walked toward Balaji and Karuna’s room.

Karuna opened the door when Kokila knocked. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying and her hair was slightly mussed.

“Is he in?” The inspector pushed Kokila aside and faced Karuna.

Karuna shook her head like a nervous deer but even Kokila could see Balaji hiding under the bed from where she stood.

They handcuffed Balaji and all but dragged him out of Tella Meda while he screamed that he was innocent and had done nothing.

“What will happen to him, Charvi Amma?” Karuna asked as she wept uncontrollably.

Charvi leaned on the walking stick she had recently purchased to help with the arthritis that plagued her aching knees. “I’ll make some phone calls. Vishnu Mohan is a good friend of the police inspector; he will let us know what is going on. Don’t worry. It’s just a mistake and it will all get sorted out.”

But there was no news for almost two weeks. Karuna went to the police station every day with Puttamma and Kokila and every day they were told that Balaji had been transferred to a prison in Visakhapatnam and he was still being questioned regarding his affiliation with the LTTE.

Dr. Vishnu Mohan couldn’t prevail upon his friendship with the police inspector because the matter was of grave importance and no favors were being granted. A new crack special investigation team had been established to find the killers of Rajiv Gandhi and the leader of the team was a man named D. R. Kartekeyan from the CBI, who was leaning very heavily on local police to find LTTE supporters and obtain information regarding the assassination.

“What does that poor boy know? Why would they take my boy away?” Puttamma cried almost all day, not eating or sleeping properly. She was staying with Karuna in Tella Meda and was afraid that the police had killed her only child.

Every time Kokila listened to Puttamma cry she held on to Karthik tighter. She could understand Puttamma’s pain and she wished she could do something to assuage it.

“People die in police custody all the time,” Puttamma lamented. “Oh, Kokila Amma, do you think they killed my boy?”

All the women at Tella Meda tried to console Puttamma but they all knew her fears were legitimate and that until Balaji came back home no one would know what happened to him. And there was also a chance that he would never come home. People routinely disappeared all the time and the police were so powerful, they could do anything.

Two weeks after they arrested Balaji, Dr. Vishnu Mohan and his wife, Saraswati, came to Tella Meda with bad news.

“They have found the press owner, Murugan Murthy, and he is up to his neck in this LTTE business,” Dr. Vishnu Mohan said. “They have confirmed his association.”

“What about Balaji? He’s just a little boy,” Puttamma said.

Dr. Vishnu Mohan shrugged. “I don’t know where he is; no one tells me. What I know is that Murugan Murthy is a staunch LTTE supporter and has donated money to them and also prints LTTE pamphlets in his printing press. Balaji could be involved, the police think.”

“He wouldn’t kill anyone, my little boy,” Puttamma said. “He’s a gentle boy. Why would they think he killed Rajiv Gandhi? That woman, she killed him by wearing a bomb.”

Dr. Vishnu Mohan sighed. “But a lot of people planned it and they think that Balaji and Murugan Murthy could be those who helped the people who planned it.”

Puttamma shook her head violently. “If my son knew what they were going to do, he’d come and tell me and I would have told the police. He tells me everything. He’s a good boy, Doctor Garu. You talk to the police and see if they’ll let my boy come home.”

A few days later, in some small town near Bangalore, those who had plotted to kill Rajiv Gandhi were found. They had killed themselves by swallowing cyanide, knowing that capture was imminent. It had been less than two months since the assassination and the country applauded the efforts of the CBI and the local police in Bangalore.

Puttamma’s son was still missing and the police still wouldn’t say where he was. Just because the killers were caught didn’t mean that the police were going to slacken their stance on the LTTE. Supporters of the organization were considered enemies of India and Indians and they were to be weeded out and thrown in jail or killed.