The Watchman

THE WATCHMAN
(Short Story)

R. MURUGAN
(Translated from Tamil by M.S. Ramaswami)

“The President has said that motorcycles should not be parked in this portion.”

The accent on the words ‘in this portion’ endeared him to me even at the outset. ‘He is a man from our place.’ Vasu looked up at him.

A dhoti folded and tied around his waist. Yellowish-brown due to daily wash. A crew-cut. A rustic laugh of mingled fear, respect and distress. A quite inappropriate T-shirt in faded orange and green with the slogan ‘New Orleans Baseball League will rule the world tomorrow.’ A shirt thoroughly unsuitable for an old man of sixty.

“Whom do you mean by the President?”

“The President of the Society!” His tone was a bit high. A confidence born out of the fact that he knows a thing or two unknown to the other.

“I do not know of any President. I am a new tenant. I came here yester­day. Flat No. B 11 on the second floor this side.” Vasu balanced the scooter preventing its falling down and pointed his fore finger towards the flat.

“Aren’t you new to this place? Excuse me; Sir.”

He unfolded his dhoti and it fell around his ankles freely. He folded his arms across his chest. A politeness awaiting a favourable reply.

This is an age which will make one sit quite snugly on a cot strung with coir or on a matspread or the pyol in the village. With some freedom it will enquire a passer-by, “What Appu.. You’ve come on leave? You’re here after the flower Festival in the temple is over. Eight temple cars were run this year for goddess Kali of Pil­laivaya. You know our boys of Kot­tagudi took a hundred plates of offer­ings in the chariot adorned with glass, and Droupadi Amman seated on it...Pity! you were not here then.” “You could have taken your father with you and kept him there. Even if he refuses, you should cajole and coax him and take him with you.” Such pieces of advice. “Come here at least once in two months. Shouldn’t you get the house whitewashed? You’ve allowed it to remain dark and dirty without painting it in broad white and ochre stripes even for the festival of pongal. Leave it there..How are the members of your family? You could have brought them with you. My boy, if only you take a sip of the water in the Chettiyoor pond you would have the feeling at least to some extent that here is our village and here are our people.” With a smile on the lips this inquiry would be made. Everything in the village is discussed. A two-acre rice field or a son having a petty shop and lamenting. ‘The old man cannot keep quiet in a place’ would make the aged remain in the village itself. That son would feed the father. Otherwise one has to come all this distance, wear an old T-shirt, keep the dhoti folded halfway near the knee, stand up at the sight of anyone and be a watch­man in the Aiswarya Apartments.

“Are you the only watchman here?”

“Yes, A boy of this locality was working with me. We kept watch by turns. He got a job in a metal-ware shop in the Ranganathan Street and left this place. Sir, for the past one week I have been keeping watch, day and night.”

“Are you the one who was seen lying down near the stairway last night when I came here?”

‘Quite possible, sir, I was dead tired. Perhaps I closed my eyes a bit. Did you have trouble in opening the gate?”

“Yes, a little. I couldn’t remove the latch from outside. So I jumped over the gate and came in.”

Vasu felt uneasy to converse because he thought he found fault with him even at the beginning. Yet he had to say something.

He stood the scooter in the stand, climbed the stairs to the first floor, and turned to see the watchman still standing at the very same spot. Close to him there was a stool. Is it the one to sit on? If so, why this big hole in the middle of it?

He remembered having seen that type of stool somewhere…Oh, now he remembers.

“Vasu…Hey, no coffee powder in stock. You just grind some powder and then sleep…Very good Peaberry seeds. In the blazing sun I went out and purchased them.”

“Why do you pester me. Amma? You don’t allow me to have a nap even on a Saturday afternoon?”

“It’s a holiday. There is no col­lege for you…you can sleep a little later!”

“Is there any urgency to grind the seeds, get the powder, prepare coffee in the filter and drink it. Saying, that you were frying the seeds you made the machine issue forth smoke for half an hour…The smell of the smoke brings the intestines out. I do not know why people are so mad, about it. Last week, Sastri who came here to perform the sraddha of my grandfather even while getting oil to take his bath said, ‘As soon as I re­turn after taking my bath, please give me a cup of coffee. Better it is brewed with freshly filtered decoction. ‘He said this as though he were laying down a condition... “Yes…Yes…Take that stool and keep it there. I shall turn the wheel. It’s the result of one’s Karma.

That wonderful machine with a wheel and a handle stood majestically on a stool. In the middle of the stool there was a big hole. If the seeds were poured in the machine and a vessel was placed beneath the hole and one turned the wheel the coffee powder would fall into it. These days big machines do this work and in shops with neon lights on, the coffee powder is sold in polythene bags. The day is not far off when this would be sold in satchels. A long time since the old machines in the house have been dis­carded. It is one such throne that has reached the watchman here…Well, but how could a man sit on it without discomfort.”

“Sir, have you provided yourself with water to drink?”

“Where should I take it from? Will it not come from the tap inside the flat?”

“There you get only brackish water. From six to seven in the morn­ing you can get potable water in the tap. Afterwards if you still need water, you have to get it from the cement tank on the ground floor.”

“Hey, I didn’t know it. Now, where am I to go now to fetch some water to drink?”

“Sir, you needn’t go anywhere. I shall get it for you. Is there a wide-­mouthed copper pot or a kudam or a bucket in the house?”

“The household things are being brought in a lorry. Now I’ve only a jug. It will be enough if you get me water in it.”

Along with Vasu he climbed the steps to take the jug.

“Your native place, sir?”

“You want to know my native village or the place from which I have now come...”

“ Sir, I meant your native village.”

“Sivagangai.”

He stood stockstill. His face brightened with unexpected joy - an ecstasy as though life itself was in his grasp at that moment.

“Sir, I too belong to a place in its neighbourhood.”

“Well, very good. Wherever I go I meet people of my parts. Somehow I meet them. Now you are here…your name?”

“Periasami. You know Okkoor…four miles from Sivagangai. Our house is near it.”

“In Okkoor...”

“Sir, any relative of yours here?”

“For how many years have you been here?”

“Sir, only for the past Six months.”

“And before that?”

“I was looking after the cultivation in the village. My wife’s sister’s husband was here. For years together he was at one and the same spot doing nothing. The excessive heat affected him. And he suffered from neurosis too. He thought it over for a while, and returned home…Sir is the body at our age capable of bearing the strain and burden of sitting continuously at one place?...Wouldn’t it be easier if we were asked to dig the ground with a spade for chop wood? Wouldn’t it affect our health too.”

“You’re right. By the bye, did you happen to come here?”

“Sir, it was my wife’s sister’s husband who brought me here. Not only that. He got a letter of recommen­dation from someone and sent me here. There was no cultivation work in the village. Why should I remain there doing nothing? So I came away. The understanding was that I would be paid three hundred rupees a month. The President said that he would give me next month a pair of trousers to wear. I was told that I should wear the uniform daily like a schoolboy and keep watch here.”

A smile flashed on his face as if there was something left in the dress of a buffoon.

“Periasami, who are your people in the village?”

“Sir, no one, Two years ago my old woman breathed her last…No use of hearing my life story. Sir, when are your people coming here?”

“Next week. My son has his examinations. Only after the examina­tions are over they would come.”

“Sir, inform me before they come. I can fix someone to get milk and vegetables, sweep and wash the house.”

His own experience of Madras was six months more than that of Vasu. The confident tone was born of that.

The watchman brought water with the jug, placed it there and left the room. Giving a few coins, he said,

“Keep this and have a cup of coffee.”

“Sir, I don’t want money. You’re one of us.”

“Doesn’t matter. Take it.”

Hesitantly he accepted the tip.

“Shall I get you something to eat at night. I would go to the Gita Hotel to get meals for Kulakarunai, Sir, of Flat No. 8. then you can give me a tiffin carrier or some vessel.”

“Who’s that man? Is he by any chance from Kanyakumari?”

“No, Sir, He is from somewhere near Bangalore. Shall I come at about seven?”

“No. You needn’t...I shall man­age it myself.”

The fiat lay deserted. On the wall, the previous year’s calendar was hanging. There was a sticker dot on the bathroom-door. One could see inside the bathroom a worn-out soap, cobwebs here and there and odds and ends of the previous tenant. The flat needs cleaning. In another two days the household articles will arrive in a container from Delhi. Then there is the family to be looked after. Only four more days are left to join duty in the office.

The doorbell rang. Could it be the watchman?

“I am Kulkarni of Flat number eight.”

Are you the Kulakarunai?

“Please come in. Not even a chair is here. My personal effects are on the way.”

“Doesn’t matter. I am going out on urgent business. Can you do me a small favour?”

“Certainly.”

“I have asked the watchman to get me my food. Now I’ve the urgency to go out.”

“If you’ve no objection I shall get the carrier from him, keep it here and you can take it when you come.”

“It’s not that. I am not sure when I will return. So, if you meet him, just ask him to eat the food himself.”

“Certainly…Unnecessary ex­pense for you”

“What to do? A situation in which I have necessarily to go.”

“Ashok…” A female voice from outside. There is a note of urgency in the tone.

Vasu saw a woman in jeans sitting on the pillion as Kulkami left the place on his motor-cycle.

“Should I stand here itself wait­ing for the watchman. Or can I go to bed and allow him to come whenever he likes,” I soliloquised.

From all the flats there was the sound of the switching of the TVs. Time for the National Programme.

Vasu’s eyes fell on the watch­man’s head. Slowly he was coming up the stairs with a heavy tiffin carrier. Looking through the window Vasu called him.

“Periasami” Just a minute…Kulkami has gone out. Leave the car­rier there and then come here.”

“Sir, somebody would pillfer it.” The watchman came up with the car­rier.

“Kulkarni told me that he would come late. He wanted you to eat the food yourself.”
“Sir, how can I eat so much? He gave me fifty rupees and asked me to get it…See, the balance is only three rupees.”

“As food should not be wasted, he wanted you to eat.”

“Sir, I don’t want it…This is the type of food that kings and ministers should eat. It would have been pre­pared with a large quantity of ghee and plenty of cashewnuts, spices, etc. Sir, I can’t digest it. I have still some­thing left of the kambu flour which I brought from my home. I have pre­pared a dish with it. I would take a few mouthfuls and lie quiet.”

“Then, what to do with this?” asked Vasu pointing to the carrier.

“Sir, will they repay the amount if I return the carrier.”

“I don’t know…I just conveyed to you what he told me. That’s all.”
“Sir, the entire money spent on it would be wasted.”

Only here Vasu came across for the first time in his life people who spent fifty rupees every night for their dinner and those who wouldn’t even care to eat it but direct others to finish it off. They pay me three hundred rupees a month. But there are people here who would spend that much amount and perhaps more for a single meal, he muttered to himself.

“Does Kulkarni ask you to get such kind of food every day?”

“Sir, not always. His wife had gone to her parent’s home. It seems she is in the family way…Only for the past one month he gets his dinner from outside.”

“Then who is the woman that rode on the pillion, clinging on to Kulkarni’s shoulder?”

He replied as though he had read Vasu’s mind.

“Seems this lady visits him only during the past few days. It is said that she is his colleague. It a looks as though here men and women can move freely without any inhibition…Daily, from the time they return from the office till the siren’s hooting at night - hey, where’s the siren here? My memory goes to our village.

The electric siren there will sound at night near the panchayat office in our place…Leave it, sit…These people…I mean that lady remains here till late in the night, chitchating and then only leave the place…She stays somewhere nearby…The cook in Reddiar’s house downstairs told me about this…He is a man of this locality and he knows everything…Well, sir…I shall go down. I should start the motor. People upstairs complained that the drinking water does not come at all even when it was expected”.

So saying Periaswamy went down taking the carrier with him.

When he lay off the bare floor spreading the newspapers, he remem­bered, again and again, his village. How many years had gone by since he had left that place? He should go there soon, at least once. He couldn’t decide when he should go. Then sleep crept over him. Suddenly, without any connection, he remembered Kulkarni’s carrier. What became of that royal food? Did anyone eat it?

Vasu looked down through the window. On the stool the watchman sat, his eyes blinking…his hands clasping the carrier. Poor chap. How long should he remain there like this?

He heard the sound of the motor cycle stopping at the gate. It was Kul­karni himself. That woman was with him. The gate remained closed. With the to the gate the watchman stood erect and stiff on the stool. Evi­dently the gate was locked. With a light stagger, Kulkarni holding the bar of the gate and looking inside, tried to wake up the watchman gently making a hissing sound “Ss…sss.” The woman clung to him still closer. “Ss..sss.” he called the watchman again. In the stillness of the dark night Vasu who was looking down through the window could hear it clearly. Each time he hissed ‘ss’ the woman laughed. Vasu could hear her laughter.

Vasu looked at them with a feel­ing of uneasiness. At the same time the watchman got up slowly, went to­wards the gate. Rubbing his eyes he removed the latch of the gate. Kulkarni came in. The woman took her vanity bag from the handlebar of the mo­torcycle. She tried to follow him.

It happened when Vasu was about to turn and walk to lie down with all fancies and uneasiness.

Suddenly the watchman raised his hands above his head. He stood like a statue obstructing her way. Vasu couldn’t believe his eyes. He was like an uninvited spectator to this mid­night drama which was not seen by any one.

At first the woman tried to come in avoiding the watchman. The mo­torcycles and the scooters parked on both sides inside the gate stood in the way. As if that were not enough the watchman was standing in front, his arms raised over his head.

Vasu knew that she couldn’t raise her voice and call Kulkarni who walked ahead of her. With her English words she couldn’t berate the old vil­lager with a dirty dhoti, a faded T-shirt and a two-day old beard. Even a little bit of sound could make a window or a door open.

The slightest sound made by her could attract public notice and scan­dal.

Kulkarni who was walking ahead stood suddenly. When he realised the situation he walked furiously towards the watchman in a threatening atti­tude. The watchman without bringing down the raised arms, took a half-turn and stood looking at Kulkarni. His eyes stared at the sky like one possessed by a spirit. Vasu was able to see this even in the dim light of the electric bulb.

The woman slowly walked . She retraced her steps, stood near the gate. Kulkarni pushed aside the watchman, hurried towards her to tell her something. But she walked into the street and vanished in the dark­ness.

From the middle of the gate Kulkarni watched her. Slowly he came . Even then the watchman was standing like a statue. Only his arms were held down. Kulkarni came fast, slapped the watchman hard with a sharp sound and then climbed the stairs. Somewhere the clock struck two. In the distance was heard the sound of the whistle made by the gurkha.

In the midst of the motorcycles and the scooters the old man stood puzzled as one that had come from another planet. Vasu stood helpless at his inability to do anything. This pricked him silently. He went inside.

Never did a day dawn with such a hullaballoo. The hubbub that fell on his ears. There was repeated ringing of the doorbell somewhere. The sound of fiercely pounding the handle of the water-tap was heard. From the gate came a resounding noise “Fish”.

Vasu looked from his window. In the varandah of the opposite block two purohits were wearing their new dhoties hurriedly in the panchakacham style. Perhaps it was a ceremony for the dead ancestors.

The watchman came up the stairs with a piece of paper in his hand.

“What’s it?”

“A meeting tonight. Sir, read the notice, sign it and return it to me.”

Vasu read the contents of the paper. “A meeting of the Flat owners’ Association of the Aiswarya Apartments will be held at 10 P.M. All should attend without fail. Honorary President, Honorary Secretary, Honor­ary Treasurer, Honorary….” “Along with it a letter with a note. This matter will be discussed….”

That paper was a complaint by Kulkarni addressed to the President of the Flat owners’ Association. ‘The aged watchman sleeps soundly at night. As a result the battery of my motor cycle was stolen. Twice I had to replace them. Thieves scale over the gate and take away things. If anyone comes late at night the watchman picks up a quarrel with him instead of opening the gate. It appears that he drinks liquor. In a place where re­spectable people live such men are thoroughly unfit to be employed. I am to inform you that if he is not removed from his job immediately I will not pay the maintenance charges from the next month onwards.’

“You know what is written here?”

“Sir, I do not know. Kulkarni sir asked me to hand over this to the President. It seems he has sent this for circulation so that all may read it.”

Vasu did not say anything but looked at him.
“Sir,” the watchman hesitated.

“What?”

“What is the date today?”

“Twenty seven.”

“Sir, how many days are there for this month to end?”

“Three days.”

“Sir, from the first of next month I stay away. Sir, please tell this at the meeting tonight…My body had grown weak…I am not able to keep awake day and night…I shall go home.”

“If your health is not quite all right you should go. But you need not leave this place out of fear of anyone. I shall speak about it in the meeting.”
“Sir, there is no need…I can’t cope with this work. I go.”

Vasu watched him leaving the place.

When Vasu started to go out, Kulkarni met him. ­

“Good morning…Do you feel comfortable here? Don’t hesitate to ask me for any help?”

“Thanks…The meals brought at night, it seems, had been wasted.”

“Yes. That old watchman had slept without eating it himself or giv­ing it to someone else. Sir, a carrier of that food costs me fifty rupees. He is not lucky. He could never have tasted such fine food in his lifetime…A total rustic…Loses everything, sleeping always.”

“It seems that last night he was sitting all awake on that stool.”

“I don’t know of it…When I came, that fool of a fellow did not at all open the gate. I had to wait there for about half an hour…A useless fellow. That’s why I have written a letter asking for dismissal from service.”

“Will not someone come if he goes away.”
“Certainly. So many people are ready to keep watch day and night for three hundred rupees.”

‘Sure. People will come…When­ever we come at night, in whatever condition we come, would run up and open the gate without uttering a single word, would bring our meals, would get water for us like a machine from the tank…People who would not dirty us trying to impose on us the so-­called values and a culture of the vil­lages - such people will certainly come.

All of a sudden there was hub­bub at the gate. A crowd gathered. Housemaids, vegetable vendors with their hand-carts, a telegraph peon in his khaki dress. All of them were in a hurry. Also some people of the ground floor were half-ready to go to their office. Vasu ran down the stairway.

“Seems a telegram for Kulkarni. The watchman had gone up to see whether Kulkarni was in his flat.”

The watchman lay dead near the stool where he used to grind the coffee seeds.

“From somewhere he came here. Kept watch night and day…He is destined to end his life here.”

“When one has to go to the of­fice - this incident took place. It was Kulkarni himself who said this. Vasu looked at him with aversion. And Kul­karni opened the telegram.

“Hi, that’s good…A son was born to me yesterday evening.” There was none to share his joy at that place. Slowly he went up the stairs.

“If a telephone call is made to the Corporation, the mortuary van will come. Just two minutes in the electric crematorium…Everything will be done by them…If anyone intends to go with the van, it is office time. Then after we return home we have to bathe again.” So said someone. The smell of the sacred ash and coconut oil wafted from him.

“Who is to operate the water pump in the evening? The President said that he had fixed a new watch­man? Where is he? He went for a walk. Hasn’t he returned yet?”

“This is the time when boys go to their schools. Better we dispose of the body quickly…You girl, get inside. Not getting late for the office?”

“Who is to go and make the phone call? And if we have to wait for the whole day?”

“Why should he come all this long distance at this age, having no relative of his here. No one even to cremate him.”

“I am here,” said Vasu.

All of them looked at him in astonishment.
“Where is the telephone?”