CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE UNBELIEVABLE KIND---WATCHMAN

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE UNBELIEVABLE KIND

A.V. DHANUSHKODI

Hamlet: “There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”. HAMLET, ACT I , SCENE V

EPISODE FIVE—WATCHMAN

This episode goes back to the late fifties, to the days of my college years. However, that factor of the episode is unimportant; what is important is the irony that what I feared most was the cause for removing that fear from my mind. Saying more may give away all; therefore, I shall straightaway narrate the episode without much ado.

I was staying with my maternal grand-parents in Madras (as Chennai was called then), as decided by my father, who was in government service in the districts,---first as Deputy Collector and then as District Collector,---often subjected to transfers. Living in Madras gave me an uninterrupted education in a good school and college and, during vacations, I would stay with my parents in the districts. I enjoyed those holidays immensely, basking in the beauty of nature and doing nothing but reading, sketching, and painting, my passions even then.

My maternal grandparents were living in Royapuram, one of the old localities of North Madras, in a three storied house owned by them. By today’s standards it should merit to be called a mansion than a house. The rooms were not rooms but spacious halls, measuring not less than twenty by twenty feet, and the halls were like badminton courts. One of the halls on the first floor, where I had my cot, had a huge mirror from Belgium, measuring up to the ceiling of about fifteen feet high. In the other hall, along one wall, big portraits of my grandparents and great-grandparents used to hang, all enlarged sepia tinted photographs. I still remember a picture of my grandmother wearing a thin long gold chain and a blouse, whose sleeves extended beyond elbows. In another photograph, she wore a blouse with puffed sleeves and gold ornament for the upper arm called “vanki.” Looking at them, I used to be amused, but later, as I was growing up, I saw the same fashions in dress and jewellery being repeated again and again, as if they were caught in a giant wheel, coming up and going down, in predictable time cycles.

My grandparents were almost always confined to the ground-floor, which had a spacious hall in the centre overlooking an open courtyard. On either side of the hall was a bedroom, in one of which my grandfather slept. The other had been converted into a puja room. There was another room beyond the puja room which contained two large tall wooden cupboards with mirrors embedded on the door panels; that room was like an impregnable fortress, as the cupboards contained most of the valuables which the family possessed. In one corner of the puja room was a big and massive iron safe, containing currency notes and cut diamonds.

My grandfather was a diamond merchant, besides formulating and retailing whooping cough syrup under license from a British company called G.S. Steers. His office was located close to my school, the Madras Christian College High School in Linghi Chetty Street in George Town. I remember going every evening to his office in Errabalu Chetty Street after school, to go home with him in his Morris Minor. The most fascinating object in his office, for a boy like me, was an old typewriter, whose keys made absolutely no noise while typing. It must have been imported from England; unfortunately I don’t remember its brand name. The typist would yield his seat to me, the moment he saw me enter. I would then sit in front of the charming old machine and pound away on the keys madly---until my grandfather was ready to leave for home—as if bent upon making the keys cry out in pain as punishment for not making the usual tapping noise while typing. What was recorded on sheet after sheet of paper didn’t make any sense I am sure, but I was proud of what I had typed and would take those sheets home with me.

While in school, I used to sleep with my grandmother in the hall overlooking the open courtyard. She would sleep with all the diamond and gold jewellery on, although there was a possibility of a thief jumping into the courtyard from the sloping tiled roofs, as all the adjoining houses had common walls and anyone could jump into any courtyard, walking on the roofs of the houses. But no one did, through all the years I spent with my grandparents; such a situation of absolute safety is unthinkable now. Even more unthinkable was what we—my cousin, my brother, and I—did when we were studying for our final exams in college. At dead of night, we would slip out of the house---leaving the front door merely closed, because we could not lock it, as the key was with our grandmother---to have a cup of hot strong tea in a tea-shop nearby, to be able to keep awake through the night. One night, as we were stealthily slipping in, we were caught red-handed by our grandmother, who was quietly waiting behind the door in darkness, having woken up unusually and discovered what we had done. Everyone received an ample amount of good thrashing then and there. From that night, we had to prepare tea ourselves, in turns, which we neither enjoyed doing nor relished drinking; not a patch on Nayar’s tea, round the corner.

* * *

As I grew up, I weaned myself away from my grandmother, to live and sleep all alone on the first floor of the “mansion”. She would often bemoan and wonder when I would add flesh to the skeleton that I was. I didn’t mind her periodic wailings, but I did protest when she sat with me at the dining table and compelled me to consume all the meat and eggs she prepared every day, meals fit to feed a TRex, but not me. One day, in sheer desperation, I decided to go to a gym early every morning. When I informed her of my decision, she was glad, but warned me that I was not to slip out, leaving the front door open; I was to wake her up, if she was asleep, so that she could bolt the door after me. However, invariably she was awake, when I went down early every morning.

I enquired with some of my friends, who lived in the same area, and found out that there was a gym in an adjacent locality called Kalmandapam, about ten minutes' walk from my home. They advised me to contact Satish, a tailor, whose shop was next to the entrance to the gym, as he was in charge of the gym. I was much impressed, when I met him: his muscles were bulging through his shirt and straining to tear it at the seams at the slightest provocation. Only much later, I realized that he had deliberately stitched his shirts a little smaller to impress. He had the key to the gym.

I was to begin building my body the next morning. That night I could not sleep for sheer excitement. My imagination was running wild when I got up many times during the night to look at myself in the Belgian mirror: I thought I was already looking like Charles Atlas (Arnold Schwarzenegger was not even born then), declared the most perfectly developed human being. I must have dozed off early morning, when I heard someone call out, “Charles Atlas! Charles Atlas! Wake up, it’s time for you to shoulder the World again!” Suddenly I woke up and shrugged, to hear my grandma shouting, “Get up you lazy lout! Time for you to get moving!”

Bouncing along the road, I reached Satish’s shop in minutes. It took many knockings on the tin-sheet door of his shop before he woke up and pushed the key under the door through a gap. That was the key to “Mr. Madras”, then to “Mr. India”, to “Mr. Asia”, to “Mr. World, and finally to “Mr. Universe”, elbowing Charles Atlas out of the World altogether. But, poor man, he passed away soon after I started on my inexorable journey towards a cataclysmic collision with him.

Holding the key tightly, I entered the narrow passage leading to the gym. It was almost pitch dark, except for a few streaks of light seeping through the gaps here and there between the plywood planks nailed along one side of the passage. As I carefully took one step at a time, I could feel the earth somewhat slushy under my slippers; I was wondering why, because it had not rained recently. That was when I picked up a faintly familiar smell and, before I could recognise the smell, my right foot hit something soft. I looked down to discover a big indistinct form, illuminated by the faint light, seeping through the gaps between the plywood planks. At that moment I heard a sound which shook me to the core: “MOOOOOOOO!” God, I narrowly escaped from being chewed up by a huge white cow! I jumped back a step and my heart started beating loudly. The cow was lying across the passage, almost fully blocking it. It took me a while to calm down to think on how I could circumvent the cow. It was ironical and funny that Atlas in the making should be cowed down by a cow, of all things! I couldn’t help laughing because I liked cows very, very much, and I would have sat down next to the cow, patted it and talked to it, had I not been hard pressed for time. Picking up my thoughts, the cow let out a low, soft, cuddly “moooooo!” That was encouraging enough for me to decide to step over the cow, which I did promptly, before it changed its mind.

I started walking again with a great sense of relief and elation, when I heard another “MOOOOOOO” ahead of me. This time, I could already discern, in the dim light, a huge black form, lying across the passage, fully blocking it. Now, I was a little annoyed: I thought someone ought to tell those bovine beings to be reasonable and lie along the passage on one side, instead of lying across it, blocking it. Again, as I didn’t have much time to persuade them to see my point, I decided to be practical and repeat my performance. I approached the bull---it did look like a bull---cautiously and peered at it. One streak of light escaping through a gap between the planks fell on its left eye; it shone like a pen-torch. Looking into that eye, I could not divine the depths of the bull’s thoughts. Finally, hoping that a kindred soul---my Zodiac sign being Taurus--- would not harbour any antagonistic attitude towards me, I took one giant leap and found myself in one piece on the other side. As I started walking again, I instinctively felt that I would confront no more cows or bulls. However, I was not going to take any chances, so I walked gingerly till I reached the gym.

The gym was housed in a rectangular hall, whose walls on two sides came up to about three feet, above which was wire mesh, rising up to the ceiling. In front of the enclosed hall was an area covered with concrete paving, obviously meant to be used for exercising. I walked across it and approached the enclosed hall, which had a door in the centre with a padlock.

As I inserted the key into the keyhole, I heard the hooting of an owl on my left. It was so sudden in the morning chill air, that it sent a chill through my spine.  I looked to my left and saw a wall, beyond which I could see the faint silhouette of a small, rather dilapidated, temple. There were trees all around the temple. The lime mortar plastering of the wall had fallen off in patches all over and the thin country bricks were dimly visible. I felt somewhat uncomfortable to be next to a dilapidated temple, alone in the darkness before dawn. However, within seconds, I dismissed my vague feeling of discomfort and turned the key, when I heard another hoot from the owl. I couldn’t say if it was the same owl, I felt it sounded a little different. I was a little annoyed and I hooted back, “Stop it!” I waited for a few seconds for the owl to answer back, but there was complete silence except for the intermittent rustle of the leaves of a peepul tree next to the temple. Convinced that I had successfully silenced the owl, I opened the padlock and removed it; that was when I heard the owl hoot again; this time there was a note of desperation to it. In that instant, a line I had read somewhere sprang to my mind: “thrice the brinded cat hath mewed”. I paused for a moment wondering if these animals---the cow, the bull, and the owl---which are close to nature, were trying to tell me something, but instantly I dismissed the thought as far fetched and irrational.

I opened the door, stepped in and switched on the light. The gym presented a sorry sight: the two walls of the hall needed whitewashing and the weights and instruments were lying haphazardly around, the floor needed plastering, the wiring was exposed here and there, and the switch was of metal, commonly found in those days, prone to give a nasty shock at times.

I stood there for a while, wondering with what I should start. For about three months before taking a decision to build my body, I had bought a few copies of assorted old magazines on body-building from a second-hand bookshop, to become familiar with some of the instruments and techniques of body building. It was in those magazines I had seen photographs of Charles Atlas. Recalling some of the advices offered in those magazines, I decided to start with exercises for the limbs to strengthen them, enabling me to handle heavier instruments to develop the torso later.

I looked around and found a pair of dumbbells I could handle without much strain. I eagerly picked them up to get started at last but, to my dismay, I discovered that they were not of the same weight. I rummaged through all the instruments lying helter-skelter for a pair of dumbbells of the same weight, but could find none. Finally, I had to do with what was available and started pumping, aware that it would lead to a lopsided development of the arms.

Although I had dismissed from my mind the dilapidated temple and the myriad sounds emanating from it, there still remained an uncomfortable feeling of apprehension on the back-burner of my mind, because I believed in the existence of ghosts, though not of gods. Even as a child, I had never believed in the existence of God; on holy days when my parents and the elders used to pray to the innumerable gods hanging on the walls, I would stand silently with palms together, my eyes and thoughts focused on the vadais and payasam, waiting impatiently for the burning chunk of camphor to die down. Now, as I worked with the irons, I would often look behind me, as if expecting the vengeful god of the dilapidated temple to send down one of its dark forces to scare me, on top of the ghosts which might be lurking in the vicinity of the gym, to have a go at the godforsaken young man. However, I worked furiously until dawn, locked the gym, climbed over the bull and the cow, and pushed the key under the tin-sheet door of the tailor’s shop and returned home with a sense of great relief.

* * *

With that “auspicious” beginning, my body building venture started. Every morning, I would set out in the pre-dawn darkness and go through all the hassles and hurdles: knocking on the tin-door, short of knocking it down, vaulting over the cow and bull, and unlocking the door to the hoots of the owl, and working on the arms and the legs. But, all through that, a sense of vague fear lurked within my mind and grew insidiously every day. I had nightmares almost every night, waking me often at nights, that I was already tired when I woke up early morning for my workouts. It was a herculean mental effort for me to push myself to go to the gym. At the gym, the atmosphere seemed to gradually take on an eerie dimension, now and then sending shivers through my spine, which I tried desperately to dismiss as the cold morning air. It was not just the hooting of the owl and the unidentifiable bird calls, added to the constant rustling of peepul leaves, but there were moments of utter silence, when even the rustling if the leaves stopped, which ‘sounded’ uncanny and more eerie than even the sounds. Soon, within about a fortnight, my vague fears were magnified to monstrous proportions, as my feverishly imaginative mind gave them concrete shapes, very much like the hideous shapes one is often confronted with in our contemporary paintings. I began to wish strongly for company at the gym, but I couldn’t persuade any of my friends to go with me. At the end of a fortnight, I decided to quit, as I could not find a companion.

On that fateful morning, I took the key with the resolution that that day would be the last day and that I would inform Satish of my decision, while returning the key. As I climbed over the cow and the bull and walked in the slush and the semi-darkness of the passage to the gym, I felt somewhat sad as I knew I would miss them all very much.

Coming out of the semi-darkness of the passage, I unlocked the padlock with my key, opened the door, stepped in, switched on the light, and took a few steps into the hall. At that moment, I realised that, for the first time, there was absolute silence: no hooting of the owl, no rustling of the leaves, no whistling of the wind. The realisation heightened my alertness and, suddenly, I felt the presence of something or someone behind me. I instinctively whirled around and saw him.

I gazed at him in utter amazement. He was well over six feet tall and his frame filled the doorway completely. He had the most handsome face I had ever seen of any man: it was lean and bony, with a long straight and beautifully chiselled nose, and a mouth with the most beatific and disarming smile sitting lightly on it. His eyes, in particular, were large and clear. They appeared to have been lit from within and exuded a magnetic power, strong but gentle and kind. His body was a great delight to look at: his neck, his shoulders, the pectorals, the biceps, the triceps, the lats, the abdomen, the thighs, the calves, and the feet, all so perfectly developed, that he could claim the title “Mr. Universe”, merely walking onto the stage and smiling at the judges. He was naked except for his short white underwear. His skin glistened and his complexion was pitch-black. I couldn’t estimate his age: at times he looked like a boy, at times a man in his early fifties.

As I stood there frozen and riveted to the spot, unable to take my eyes off him, he bowed, bringing his palms together and greeted me with, “Vanakkam Ayya”. His voice was a deep bass, but yet sounded sweet and melodious.

I woke up from my trance and asked him, “Who are you?”

“Watchman Ayya”, he answered with a smile.

“Oh, I see,” I relaxed, “What is your name?”

“People call me Karuppusamy.”

“What is your real name?”

“I don’t know Ayya .”

“Your parents should have called you by your real name?”

“I have never seen my parents. I have always been an orphan.”

“How do you make a living?”

“People have always fed me and given me clothes.”

“You have a family?”

“No. I am not married,” he smiled like a cherub.

“Where do you live?”

“Nearby.”

“I have not seen you before.”

“I came here just last night.”

“Your body is so well developed?”

He smiled, “Hard work.”

“What work?”

“Mmm….this and that.”

“Such as….?”

“Odd jobs……for people.”

I decided to start my work and turned to pick out a pair of dumbbells, when I noticed that all the instruments and weights were neatly arranged on the floor and the wall at one end of the hall.

I looked at Karuppusamy, who was by now sitting in a corner at the other end of the hall, cross-legged, watching me.

I said, “Thanks.”

He merely smiled at me and nodded.

When I turned again to pick out a pair, I saw that all the dumbbells had been arranged in perfectly matching pairs, in the ascending order by weight. I was somewhat puzzled. All these days, was I dumber than the dumbbells, that I couldn’t see that all the dumbbells could be perfectly matched by weight? I felt ashamed.

I picked out a pair I could easily handle and started working. Throughout the hour I worked, I could feel Karuppusamy watching me with keen interest, sitting bolt upright in his corner, motionless and silent. For the first time, I was so relaxed that I enjoyed the workout and wanted to continue for another hour. Now and then I would cast a glance at him and he would smile at me with a nod. He was truly a watchman.

When I finally put the dumbbells back in their place, I didn’t feel tired; I could have gone on and on, but I had to get back to get ready to go to college.

Wiping myself with my hand-towel, I asked him, “Will you be here every morning?”

“Yes, that’s my job,” he replied warmly.

I did not wake up Satish to tell him that that was my last day in the gym. I merely pushed the key under the tin-door into the shop and walked home bouncing.

* * *

From that day, I slept soundly every night, waking up early morning, completely refreshed and ready to have a go at the gym. Every morning, within minutes after I opened the door of the gym, Karuppusamy would enter, greet me with “Vanakkam Ayya” and take his place in the farthest corner and watch me with keen interest. He would even help me occasionally with the irons as I attempted some of the more difficult exercises. At times he would already be within the gym and would greet me, as I entered the gym, unlocking the door. The place was always spotless and the irons were always neatly arranged. I enjoyed every moment of my time in the gym, taking a break three or four times, not because I was tired, but because I liked to chat with Karuppusamy and feast on his magnificent body.

Once I asked him in a light and teasing vein, “You call yourself Karuppusamy, are you a black God?”

He laughed heartily and answered, “Ayya, I don’t call myself Karuppusamy, but people do. I am sure I am black, but if you think I am a Samy, I am a Samy. If you think I am not, I am not.”

His answer sounded simple and naïve; at the same time it sounded highly philosophical, but I couldn’t give him that credit, considering that he was a just a watchman. We laughed together.

Another day, during one of the breaks, I sat down next to him and asked, “Do you believe in God?”

He looked at me steadily for a while and smiled, “I don’t know about God, but I believe in myself.”

I was surprised, because I thought everyone of his social standing believed in God. I replied, “How strange, we think alike.”

Yet another day, during a break, he asked me, “Ayya, why do you not believe in God?”

I replied without hesitation, “Because there is no scientific proof for the existence of God.”

I could see he was making an effort to understand, “I don’t understand Ayya,” he said after about a minute.

I tried to explain to him in simple terms, “I haven’t seen God, I haven’t heard God, and I haven’t felt God. How can I believe in his existence?’

He nodded his head, he understood now.

There were many such breaks, many such conversations. I told him everything about myself, my parents, my grandparents. He listened intently with keen interest, without interrupting me. I would often appreciate his capacity to truly listen and he would reply that he was used to it from the time he could remember. He said he was truly interested in knowing about people and their problems, when they went to him and told him about themselves. He tried to help them as much as he could but, of late, he could not help them much.

* * *

A few months passed before my final exams approached. I had to study literally day and night and forgo my visits to the gym, but I missed Karuppusamy more than the gym. Also, my grandma was somewhat disappointed that my workouts had not added anything to my physique, but was supportive when I told her that I was determined to go back to the gym after the exams and work hard until I became like Karuppusamy. I had told her about Karuppusamy and she approved of my friendship with him.

However, unfortunately for me, soon after the exams, my father was transferred to Madras and I had to shift to the Government House Estate in Mount Road (presently the location of the newly constructed Secretariat) where he was given accommodation. I was really very depressed that I would not be able to see Karuppusamy, let alone spend time with him.

 

A few days before I was to shift from my grandparents’ house, I had a strong desire to spend some time with Karuppusamy, perhaps for the last time; around nine at night, I went to Satish’s shop. He greeted me cheerfully and bade his assistant, a bright boy, to get me a cup of tea from the nearby Nayar’s tea shop, which I used to frequent at midnight with my brother and cousins, until we were pulled up severely by our grandmother. Sipping Nayar’s hot tea with nostalgia, I chatted for a while with Satish about body building, when he asked me when I was going to start again. I told him I had to shift, but promised him that I would continue my workouts, if I could find a gym near my new home.

Then I asked him if I could go to the gym to say “goodbye” to Karuppusamy.

“Karuppusamy? Who is he? Your friend? Is he at the gym now?”

“Well…..yes, a friend……. in a way. He should be at the gym now.”

“I don’t know of any member of the gym by name Karuppusamy.”

“No Satish, the watchman Karuppusamy. You have a very bad memory. Or, has he left?”

“Look Sir, I may have a bad memory for names, but I have a good memory for money. I have never employed any watchman, whether Karuppusamy or Vellaisamy, because we can’t afford such a luxury.”

The empty glass tumbler I was holding, slipped from my hand and broke into a thousand shards on the floor.

* * *

A month later, my mother and I visited my grandparents, to spend a day or two with them. Early morning the next day, I felt like taking a walk. I did not plan my walk, but weaved my way through small streets and lanes, generally in the direction of the Kalmandapam locality. As the first rays of the sun were coming up, I found myself walking in a narrow alley which appeared strangely familiar. The rear of a building on my left, in particular, had a familiar air about it. As I took a few more steps, next to that building, I saw a dilapidated wall enclosing an open area, overgrown with trees and bushes. Then I heard the rustle of the leaves of the peepul tree and, in a flash, recognized the place as I peered through the dim morning light, to see the run-down little temple, almost completely hidden behind the peepul tree. I did not shudder now, but eagerly stopped in front of the half-broken and partly unhinged wooden wicket-gate. It groaned, when I opened it with some difficulty, but I could not close it properly. Leaving it half-open, I hesitantly picked my way through a narrow clearing which must have been a path once, but now almost disappearing among the profusely thriving thorny bushes and grass.

When I approached the temple, a small black Nandhi made of stone, facing the temple, came into view. I froze and looked at the Nandhi, the sacred bull of Shiva. I suddenly felt dizzy and my heart was pounding audibly. A strong urge welled up within me to turn around and run out.

With great determination I overcame the urge and turned towards the temple, in front of which was a rusted iron trident, blackened by time, but still standing erect, growing out of the ground. I pushed myself, step by step, towards the temple, and stood in front of the small opening to the sanctum. I had to kneel down in front of the opening, to see within the dark and damp sanctum.

There, about three feet tall, was a perfect pitch-black granite replica of watchman Karuppusamy, with the same enchanting cherubic smile on the face and a mace in the hand.

A.V. Dhanushkodi

December, 2009