“Subbaratnam”
BY S. S.
“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 back.
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 back 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 back 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 back 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.