“Subbaratnam”

“Subbaratnam”, to give his full official name, which I was able to discover from an old service register of eighteen eighties in the local college has never been called as such (as far as I know) these five decades. He is “Chubbu” for his Telugu friends, “Ratnam” for his Tamil ones, “Subbu” for his Canarese associates and “Raman” for his Kerala contemporaries. As to how he came to be called this last, I have not been able to discover. For the purposes of this story, I prefer to call him “Subbaratnam.”

Subbaratnam is now over seventy having finished ‘the allotted span’; yet he looks this side of fifty. Short in stature, sturdy and keen-eyed with a pair of gold-rimmed glasses supplied by Messrs. Lawrance and Mayo when they first opened their branch in Madras. Local opticians were called to replace the glasses only twice in the last two decades, but the frame still remains like the “steel frame.” The problem of grey hair does not arise for him at least as far as his bald head is concerned.

His long and loyal services in the local college are known to every student and professor, for is it not a fair record to start as a despatching clerk and rise up to the most influential position of a Head Clerk of a college? His first European Principal liked Subbaratnam for his honesty and used to entrust him with important papers to be carried to his residence, “The College House”. Then, again, his Principal’s wife used to call upon Subbaratnam to act as an interpreter for all her domestic finances and, particularly, the dhoby accounts.

It was in the early 1900’s that plague visited the town. The principals and his wife got inoculated at the College House and Subbaratnam was also compelled to have it done much against his conscience. It was in the same year that people died in the town like rats and the authorities used to carry on inoculations by offering clothes, sweetmeats and even money to popularise the idea among the public, who strongly believed it was an evil visitation of the Plague “Amman.”

Subbaratnam lost his parents and a widowed sister during the plague.

Being alone, Subbaratnam used to look upon the Principal and his wife as his visible parents. Many nights he used to sleep in the verandah of the College House. A few years passed by and Subbaratnam married Kaveri, the only daughter of Subramania Iyer of Karur. Life was happy for the next few years. Everybody was kind. The Principal’s wife used to send vegetables, plantain leaves, fruits, flowers, etc. to Subbaratnam. Kaveri presented him with a daughter and before he could smile well, the plague “Amman” visited the place and claimed her this time as the victim!

Everybody sympathised with Subbaratnam and the baby was named Kaveri in memory of her dead mother. Young Kaveri grew up under the tender care of her father, who used to take her to the college and . Professors and students, and even the peons in the college, showed their kindness in their own way whenever they saw the little girl seated silently in the office room.

The relations and friends of Subbaratnam compelled him to marry again and yet he refused to do anything of the kind and brought up the young one with all his fondness and love. Kaveri grew up to be a handsome girl, but unfortunately, she was dumb and deaf.

Subbaratnam’s anxiety knew no bounds. She cannot be kept unmarried–a sacrilege–and every day she was growing. At last, through the good offices of his Principal, a choice was made of a Lieutenant in the Army–(this refers to World War No. I)–and the marriage was celebrated and the husband went to the Field.

Though dumb and deaf, Kaveri had free-hand drawing developed as a hobby and had several books filled with pencil sketches of as she saw, mostly of men and women. In 1916, her husband came on a short leave from the Middle East and Subbaratnam was very happy to see them loving each other. The holiday was soon at an end and Kaveri was left in her parents in-law’s house. Once a month she used to get a remittance from her husband from “somewhere” in the ‘fields’. Her parents-in-law were quite kind to her and her mother-in-law was not particularly hostile–a rare thing in those days when daughters-in-law were more docile! Subbaratnam used to pay a visit now and then to his daughter’s place and once or twice he brought her to his own place for a return visit.

Plague came again in 1918 and this time it was more severe and Kaveri was attacked. Subbaratnam was summoned to her bedside, as there was no hope. She was sinking and beckoned to her father to show her sketch-book and while her father was turning the pages for her, she fixed her gaze on a full-page black and white pencil sketch of her husband and breathes her last!

Subbaratnam’s grief knew no bounds. The world was empty for him. Should he turn mendicant or mad? No–after some weeks–his disciplined mind his strength of character, his great faith in God and the lesson of the Gita prevailed and he turned to his work and spent all his time in the loyal service of his college. His European Principal retired and a Hindu, a Muhammadan and a Parsi as well as a Christian succeeded by communal rotation and Subbaratnam remained a favourite with all.

After forty-two years of faithful service, he retired in the middle of World War No.2, but the local petrol agents requisitioned his services and today he is at his post in the Market Square Petrol Bunk from 7 in the morning up to 11 in the night. His “non busy” hours are 3 to 4 p.m., but when I saw him he was surrounded by a host of women and children. Subbaratnam was making kind enquiries and writing letters to their husbands or brothers in the Army. He was writing on the envelope “Sepoy Arumugam, 18, Base Post Office” and superscribing the name of the sender–from his wife –“Kaveriamma.”

Tears rolled down from Subbaratnam’s eyes. He just wiped them and continued to write.