never seen a train before. So great was his excitement on the long journey to Calcutta that he hardly noticed the discomfort of the crowded carriage, or the engine soot that blew in through the window to blacken his face. He struggled to comprehend the great vistas of land continuously sucked away behind him, and then to understand the conglomeration of humanity and buildings that was Calcutta, the first large town he had ever seen.
As with the train ride, the ocean journey was lightened for Raj by the wonders that surrounded him. The way was strewn with miracles; the size of the ocean and its moods, one moment reflective as glass, the next seething with rage. He stared for hours into the foamy wake of the ship; sometimes, a fish leapt from the depths or dolphins appeared and kept pace with the vessel. And always the sunset came down in a magnificent way, dissolving him, just as the world was dissolved on that strange cusp of the day. It was only the night he dreaded, for in the dark the ship heaved and shuddered. He was twelve years old and fear of the future lay like a stone in his belly.
He remembered a man called Dinesh, recruited to work on rubberor pineapple plantations in Malaya, who had taken him under his wing when he boarded the ship. He told Raj to spread his mat alongside his own and when the urine of a nearby baby trickled over the deck, Dinesh shouted at the mother to cover its bottom or hold it out over a rag. He and his friends shared their food with him, and Raj carried drinking and shaving water to the men. Raj learned to play cards and learned about women as he sat listening to them on the burning deck each day. But at last they arrived, and the island that had existed for so long in his mind was beneath his feet.
On the quay he had sat upon his bundle of belongings and tried to stifle his panic, not knowing where to go. At last, a kindly Tamil had given him a ride on a bullock cart filled with bales of cotton. When their ways diverged Raj tried not to show his apprehension as he clambered off the cart.
âGo to Serangoon Road, all Indians live there. Find Subramanium, the parrot astrologer,â the driver advised.
Raj had picked up his bundle and taken his first steps in the direction the man pointed out. Ramshackle buildings lined narrow roads overflowing with people, carts and rickshaws. At last he had come into wider streets where imposing buildings of graceful architecture dwarfed a man. For the first time Raj had seen large wheeled motor cars and trams. These sights had taken his breath away.
On that first day Subramanium received him brusquely. âI have no work for you. I am not a charity. Ask around for work like everyone else. Nowadays young people are lazy,â he barked. His stall was pushed up against the wall of a shophouse under the shade of the five-foot way.
Already dusk was descending. It had been a long walk from where the bullock cart dropped him. Raj had stopped only once to rest beneath a banyan tree, eating the remains of some rice rolled in a piece of paper. He looked up at the darkening sky; his legs ached, his head ached and his stomach was empty. Thoughts of his grandmother and his sister Leila, so far away from him now, overwhelmed him. On Serangoon Road oil lamps were lit as the dusk tumbled into night. Raj lay down, exhausted, stretching out on the pavement. He awoke the next morning to Subramaniumâs bare toe in a filthy sandal prodding his ribs. The man had bought him some breakfast wrapped in a banana leaf and when, after days of trying, no proper work materialised, hadpersuaded Manikam of Manikamâs Cloth Shop to employ Raj as an assistant.
Later that evening, Raj made his way along Serangoon Road towards Sri Perumal temple to make a delivery of several muslin dhoti to the chief priest there. There were no communists on Serangoon Road and the place, like Manikam himself, had little interest in the riots at Kreta Ayer and indeed had not heard of Sun
As with the train ride, the ocean journey was lightened for Raj by the wonders that surrounded him. The way was strewn with miracles; the size of the ocean and its moods, one moment reflective as glass, the next seething with rage. He stared for hours into the foamy wake of the ship; sometimes, a fish leapt from the depths or dolphins appeared and kept pace with the vessel. And always the sunset came down in a magnificent way, dissolving him, just as the world was dissolved on that strange cusp of the day. It was only the night he dreaded, for in the dark the ship heaved and shuddered. He was twelve years old and fear of the future lay like a stone in his belly.
He remembered a man called Dinesh, recruited to work on rubberor pineapple plantations in Malaya, who had taken him under his wing when he boarded the ship. He told Raj to spread his mat alongside his own and when the urine of a nearby baby trickled over the deck, Dinesh shouted at the mother to cover its bottom or hold it out over a rag. He and his friends shared their food with him, and Raj carried drinking and shaving water to the men. Raj learned to play cards and learned about women as he sat listening to them on the burning deck each day. But at last they arrived, and the island that had existed for so long in his mind was beneath his feet.
On the quay he had sat upon his bundle of belongings and tried to stifle his panic, not knowing where to go. At last, a kindly Tamil had given him a ride on a bullock cart filled with bales of cotton. When their ways diverged Raj tried not to show his apprehension as he clambered off the cart.
âGo to Serangoon Road, all Indians live there. Find Subramanium, the parrot astrologer,â the driver advised.
Raj had picked up his bundle and taken his first steps in the direction the man pointed out. Ramshackle buildings lined narrow roads overflowing with people, carts and rickshaws. At last he had come into wider streets where imposing buildings of graceful architecture dwarfed a man. For the first time Raj had seen large wheeled motor cars and trams. These sights had taken his breath away.
On that first day Subramanium received him brusquely. âI have no work for you. I am not a charity. Ask around for work like everyone else. Nowadays young people are lazy,â he barked. His stall was pushed up against the wall of a shophouse under the shade of the five-foot way.
Already dusk was descending. It had been a long walk from where the bullock cart dropped him. Raj had stopped only once to rest beneath a banyan tree, eating the remains of some rice rolled in a piece of paper. He looked up at the darkening sky; his legs ached, his head ached and his stomach was empty. Thoughts of his grandmother and his sister Leila, so far away from him now, overwhelmed him. On Serangoon Road oil lamps were lit as the dusk tumbled into night. Raj lay down, exhausted, stretching out on the pavement. He awoke the next morning to Subramaniumâs bare toe in a filthy sandal prodding his ribs. The man had bought him some breakfast wrapped in a banana leaf and when, after days of trying, no proper work materialised, hadpersuaded Manikam of Manikamâs Cloth Shop to employ Raj as an assistant.
Later that evening, Raj made his way along Serangoon Road towards Sri Perumal temple to make a delivery of several muslin dhoti to the chief priest there. There were no communists on Serangoon Road and the place, like Manikam himself, had little interest in the riots at Kreta Ayer and indeed had not heard of Sun
Similar Books
