Photo of a Jail-Bird

(A Story)

By Vaikom Muhamad Basheer
(Translated from Malayalam by Chitrabhanu Nambudripad)

IN the centre a big portrait of Jesus Christ in colours and on either side of it two ordinary photos: one that of a middle-aged man, his face drawn with fatigue and the other that of a handsome and smart youth with luxuriant curly hair and big smiling eyes. This was how Mariamma saw him for the first time. But then a curiosity about that handsome youth arose in her, though she could not be said to have fallen in love with him. And neither was she aware that it was the photo of Joseph who was shut up in some distant jail.

Staring at that photo sat Joseph’s mother, an embodiment of sorrow and endurance. Wife, mother–such was the old woman. A husband who was no more and a son who was in prison!

The mother was waiting.

The son was not informed of the death of his father: he should not be made to lament.

Unseen, unknown, Mariamma loved the son and also sent many letters to him in jail.

And at the end…Why, it began like this:

Surrounded by the walls of the convent, Mariamma was one of its inmates. She spent her days in an atmosphere of suppressed passion–an idle and scattered life which gradually withered away into oblivion. A girl-student, twenty-two years old. Somewhat dark in complexion. Not very beautiful. Yet, would she not have the thirsts and longings of love? Most of her friends had lovers. They exchanged letters, breaking all rules of the convent; Mariamma had never written one nor received any. She knew how to write. And she had her heart full with love. But to whom was she to write? Nobody had ever loved her. She too should love. Then the vacation came. Herself unaware, she became a lover.

This was how it happened:

Mariamma knew beforehand that she was going to a new house for this vacation. Her father had been transferred to another bank. Accordingly, her mother and relatives had moved to the new place. Two months had passed since they settled there. And Mariamma too joined them. She had no work at home–only eating and reading. Or else, she would wander through the compound of her house. A solitary house stood outside their compound wall. Only one or two women were seen there. Nothing more was known. None of her family had made acquaintance with their neighbour. On the third day of her arrival, Mariamma climbed over the wall and got down the other side.

“Who’s that?” called out a woman from the kitchen.

Mariamma replied as if nothing extraordinary had happened: “Oh, nothing. It’s only me. Thought of making your acquaintance.”

She walked to the courtyard of the house. Joseph’s mother appeared at the door. Then Mariamma knew not that it was Joseph’s mother. A grey old woman of a quiet nature with sorrowful eyes, she looked at Mariamma. Mariamma returned a careless glance. At the end Mariamma smiled. The old Woman too smiled sadly.

“Come in and sit down awhile, daughter.”

It was into that room that Mariamma entered. She sat there and her eyes were immediately drawn to those photos.

There: a handsome and smart youth with luxuriant curly hair and big smiling eyes.

“ It’s my son.”

And then the mother said so many things about her son. Meanwhile, Mariamma introduced herself as a student of the Intermediate class, staying in the convent. Joseph’s mother said her son went to jail for the first time when he was in the Intermediate class. He was eighteen then. It was then that the photo was taken.

“Now he’s twenty-six. He has gone four times to jail in his life. During the fourth time, his father died. He has not been informed of it yet.”

“Why?”

“It’ll pain him. The Government confiscated our house and properties. This house is my son-in-law’s. Of this too, he has not been informed. Is he not gone there for a good cause? He should not know what’s happening here.”

“Don’t you receive letters from jail?”

“Yes, they’re sent to our home address.”

The mother took a packet of letters, wrapped in a handkerchief, from her trunk and gave it to Mariamma.

“It’s his kerchief.”

Mariamma untied the packet and examined the letters. They were letters from four different jails. Apart from information regarding the number of prisoners in each jail in the different categories–men and women, politicals and convicts–the letters contained enquiries about the welfare of his father and mother and of his sisters and their husbands and children. In each letter, a secret address outside the jail was also given. In the fourth letter it was given like this: 

“Put the letter for me in a small cover with 1051 written on it. Then put it in another cover and post it to the address given in this letter. It will safely reach me.”

Letter will reach him safely! Mariamma began to feel a throbbing at the bottom of her heart. Should write a letter. Why? She herself did not know. A man whom he had never seen nor even heard of. He lay somewhere inside a jail, beyond her reach, beyond her imagination.

That handsome and smart youth with luxuriant curly hair and big smiling eyes!

But how to write? What would he think? Yet, had she not many things to know? How was the jail? How men and women lived there? What was their mode of life? It was for knowing about all these and not for anything else.

“May I take these along with me, mother? I shall return after reading them to my father and mother.”

The mother just looked at her. Mariamma slipped -into her house with the letters without waiting to know whether the mother approved of it or not. Not, of course, for reading them out to anybody.

That night she read all the letters three or four times.

Jail!

How many in the whole of the land! How many men and women were shut up in them!

She had been unable to understand anything due to ‘education’. She remembered the convent–altogether a feeling of suffocation.

She bravely decided to write a letter to Joseph. On a white paper she began: “Dear...” But how to proceed with it? She sat there for a long time staring at the word.

“Dear...”

Mariamma did not write that night. She noted down the address. On a red page in her autograph book which contained the autographs of Bishops, Mother Superior, Nuns, and College Professors, she wrote ‘1051’.

All the letters were returned to Joseph’s mother the next day.

Daily she would go there. Would sit there. Would talk with the mother. Mostly, she would be listening.

And so the vacation ended. It was with a tearful embrace that she took leave of Joseph’s mother.

She did not write to Joseph immediately she reached the convent. Still a hesitation, an unpleasantness. But a change had taken place in her. She now began to take interest in political affairs. She was quite ignorant of them formerly. Many things she knew now. Two kinds of newspapers there were. The majority sided with the Government. Only a few supported the freedom movement. The Mother Superior strictly prohibited the entry of these papers into the convent. But Mariamma was getting them from a student friend who lived outside the convent. Thus deep love and reverence for political workers took root in her. She showed interest in the activities of political organisations. Her heart would begin to throb when she heard the thunder of jathas as they passed by.

“Release the political prisoners!” When she heard this slogan raised, a lightning would pass through her heart. She would think at Joseph night and day. Joseph...Joseph. ...Thus, by constant thought, she became very close to Joseph. She wrote nine lettes but sent none. All of them she tore into shreds and threw away through the windows of the convent. But she could not resist writing again. And she wrote. All letters which came into and went from the convent were, as a rule, to be shown to the Mother Superior. But she did not show her letters. In her letters, she gave the address of a friend who lived outside the convent. The first letter that Mariamma wrote after serious thought ran as follows:

“Dear Friend,

“I am a stranger to you, but you are not to me. I am a student staying in the convent. I know your mother and relatives. My parents are now your mother’s neighbours. My father is the cashier of the Imperial Bank: I used to see your mother during the vacation. I have seen all the letters you wrote to her. Mother and others are doing well.

“I write this letter with a special purpose. I shall be glad if you would kindly send me all information about the jail.

With greetings,
Yours, M. P. Mariamma.”

Mariamma sent the letter after much hesitation. Did it not contain her heart? Would Joseph discern the secret in it?

It took twenty days for a reply. But was the reply addressed to her? No, it was not addressed to anybody. A letter with neither place nor name. Not even a greeting. But it contained all information regarding jail:

“The jail is a peculiar world. Here, only yearnings exist,” Mariamma read it, her heart beating fast. Yes, it was Joseph’s hand Joseph...Joseph...”This place, surrounded by thick walls, contains more than one thousand six hundred people. Men and women. From life-term prisoners downwards. Men and women having hopes and desires, blood and life. The jail walls are such that they black-out the whole outside world from your view. They seem to reach right up to the sky. Inside the main wall, there are buildings separated by small walls.

“Superintendent, jailor, warders, convict warders, maistries–thus goes the list of jail officials. Apart from these, there are lady warders in the women’s jail. Then there is a doctor.

“Convict warders and maistries–they are convicts who have undergone various long terms of imprisonment. Mostly they are convicted for murder. They help the warders to control the prisoners and make them work. Their words and actions cannot be described here. They are so vulgar and wicked. They address the prisoners meanly; they make the prisoners, including politicals, work both in the scorching heat as well as in the freezing cold.

“Temples and priests, gallows, and dungeons of death,–what else is needed to reform man?

“All jails in our vast Motherland are of the same model. The jail is a peculiar world. Only longings exist here.”

“Dear 1051,

“I read your letter, read it aloud to all my friends. And I want to read it aloud to the whole world.

“I sit here in the convent, surrounded by thick walls and ponder. I too will always remember you along with your mother. I am anxious to know more about the jail and about your health. With humble offerings before the services you rendered to the people of this country, including myself,

Yours, M. P. Mariamma.”

“Unknown Friend,

“I read through your letter and sat for a long time thinking. What am I to write in reply?

“My sacrifice is not so big as you seem to think. Don’t think that I say this out of modesty. In this vast country of ours, there are so many people who are in the same position as my parents are. You can find them in every home. And their sons and daughters in the jails scattered throughout the country. Among them, there are people who have gone to jail thirty times. Also those who have become victims of consumption and hysteria, and those who have become lame. Think of it. What service have I done? Before the word ‘service,’ I hide my face in shame. By the bye, what have you done to strengthen our movement? Please excuse me for asking this question. I don’t know how old you are. There are women of different ages in this jail, in all jails. You must not forget them. Heroic sisters!

“During the last two and half years, nine political prisoners have died here. Six of them were women. Imagine how many women would have died altogether in the various prisons!

“Heroic sisters! You should not forget them.

“What more information do you want about the jail? As I had written in my last letter, the jail is peculiar world.

“There are only three gates for the outer wall of the jail–on three different sides. Two of them small and one big. All the three are made of iron. The big one is the entrance. Armed sentries will be there always. Only after a thorough search will people be allowed to enter. Prisoners are brought in through this door.

“The other two gates are exits for the prisoners. No search there. Only corpses pass out through them. One gate is near the gallows, the other near the hospital.

“The offices of the superintendent and the jailor are situated near the entrance. After that, in the centre of the jail is a tower. From the top of it, the whole town can be seen. And inside of the jail too–the condemned cells, the gallows, the women’s jail, the hospital and so on.

“It is from the top of the tower that bells are rung every fifteen minutes. It will echo through the place madly.

“The jail is completely electrified. The night is made day. Before the sun goes down, the prisoners will be counted and locked-up. Both inside and outside each building, sentries will be posted–convict warders inside and ordinary warders outside.

“Anything can happen in jail. Anything is available in it–arrack, toddy, beedi, pan, tea, sugar, and so on. The dealers are the prisoners themselves. Convict warders, ordinary warders and the head warder are partners in it. A thing which costs one anna outside costs one rupee here. A part of the profit also goes to the sentry.

I am writing about this and that. Is there enough paper at my disposal to scribble all that comes to mind? This stub of a pencil! Letters are not clear.

“You are staying in the convent and studying, are you not? In which class? Do you read anything other than text-books and books on religion? Excuse me for my questions. Students are the bone of the country. They should not grow up as slaves.

“With best wishes for a happy future,
Yours, 1051.”

“Dear 1051,

“Your letter made my heart melt. How insignificant I am! I am ignorant of everything. But I love the movement in which you are. I am working for the success of it with all my strength. I am studying in the Intermediate class. My age is twenty-two. Being an unintelligent and lazy girl, I have failed in many classes. Altogether four times. I am a blackie, not beautiful at all.

Apart from text-books and books on religion, I read that paper of yours. The order of the Mother Superior is that it should not be brought into the convent. But I read it still. I also read the books advertised in it. Tell me what other books I should read, and I shall read them.

“I did not expect this much when I saw your beautiful photo your mother showed me. That photo remains fixed in my heart now.

“When will you be released? When will you come home?

“Please reply immediately for all news. Delay in reply pains me–as if I were going to die.

“Let peace be to your mind.
Yours, M. P. Mariamma.”

The reply to this letter was delayed. Mariamma felt greatly distressed. In the classes, she became inattentive to her lessons. She would sit there, her eyes wide open. Why so much delay in reply? Would it not have reached him? Even after midnight, she lay on the bed sleepless. When the morning came, she thought: the letter would come today. Thus six weeks passed without any letter. At last she lost her patience. She decided to send him another letter. But then, it came, the letter:

“Dear Sister,

“You saw my photo in my home, did you not? It is not the photo of a jail-bird.

“What did you mean when you wrote that you are unintelligent, lazy, and a blackie? Do you love me? If you do, you should immediately destroy your love. You should forget me forever.

“I am a political worker. This does not mean that I have neither love nor passions. One fact that you have to bear in mind is that my life is not safe. I have lived in many lock-ups and jails like all political prisoners now shut up in the various prisons. Many changes have taken place in us. There need be no explanation for this.

“We have no vacation. It is also not known when we are going to be released. This fact should not be made known to my father and mother. If they come to know of the correspondence between us and ask you anything about me, you should say I will be released soon. They should not be made miserable.

“We are undergoing solitary confinement. We are not allowed to see or talk to one another. Loneliness! How horrible it is, you know! I do not know how long ago it was that I saw the stars, the moon and the sky at night.”

“I am not writing to you how I receive and send letters through my friend outside, whose address you know. If this falls into the hands of somebody else...The jobs of many warders will be in danger. Their families will become destitute.

“It is a wonder that your message of love came inside this jail of jails. It makes me think of so many things.

“Dead silence of the night. Suddenly, a flood of noise comes from the nearby women’s jail. It stops suddenly and again dead silence. And then as if with the recollections of the past come the deep moans of lions from the zoo in the distant town…long, prolonged roars….like thunders of intense grief rising from the earth against the sky.

“Sister, forget me for ever. If at any time you happen to go to my house, tell my mother and father to destroy my photo. Tell them something for me….a….something. This fact you should not tell them: I have almost become bald. The few hairs remaining have turned grey. I had formerly two eyes, but only one now–the right one. As red and wide-open as the red star.

“With greetings,
Your Jail-bird, 1051.”

Though with anguish, Mariamma sent a reply to Joseph–very late. “I will wait for you–even until death, if necessary. The secret from both sides made her heart…why, she went home not long after. All the letters of Joseph, she kept inside her bodice. She approached Joseph’s mother with a feeling of suffocation. That mother still sat there in that room.

A big portrait of Jesus Christ in colours, and on either side of it, two ordinary photos: one that of a middle-aged man, his face drawn with fatigue, and the other that of a handsome and smart youth with luxuriant curly hair and big smiling eyes!