Yat-sen. Raj knew the name only because his friend Krishna, the letter writer, was interested in revolutionaries and had once briefly and dangerously lived such a life himself.
Once he had made the delivery, Raj did not immediately return to Manikamâs but walked towards the premises of a garland maker beside the temple. Most evenings Krishna was to be found here beneath the templeâs colourful pagoda of gods, taking dictation from the illiterate, writing letters to their families in India. Sitting as he did outside the garland makerâs shop with flowers heaped around him, the sweet perfume of jasmine filling the air and the gods looking down upon him, Krishna had acquired the reputation of unworldly status. His work as a schoolmaster at the Ramakrishna Mission further added to his aura as did his tall, lean frame and deep faraway eyes. People came to him not only for the writing of letters but to consult about marriages, horoscopes and ailments, or for mediation in family quarrels.
When Manikam had finally realised his dependence upon Raj, he had agreed to him taking English and Mathematics lessons from Krishna for a nominal fee. Manikam himself was a literate man, and he viewed the education of Raj as a business investment from which he expected to reap a good profit. Raj had proved an avid pupil, quickly building on the rudimentary education he had received in his village schoolroom. He carried his books with him throughout the day, poring over them at every opportunity behind the counter of Manikamâs Cloth Shop and by an oil lamp late into the night. Krishna could not resist such a willing pupil and soon would take nothing for these lessons, much to Manikamâs satisfaction.
âMy reward will be to see him thrive,â Krishna told Raj and Manikam. A friendship developed between them, Krishna treating Raj like a younger brother, and even when Raj no longer had need of Krishnaâs lessons, they continued to meet.
Now, as Krishna was still busy Raj waited, sitting on a low wall beside a trinket stall piled with gaudy glass bangles. Watching Krishna scratch away with his pen, head bent to his board, listening to the dictation of the men crouched at his feet, Raj remembered the days when he too had waited for Krishna to write a letter for him to his sister Leila. In the darkness the booths and small shops of Serangoon Road were lit by a blaze of oil lamps. The fake diamonds and gaudy gold chains of the trinket stall gleamed seductively. Once, this had been largely a road of men who left their families in India, but times were changing and people had prospered. Those who could afford it were now bringing their wives from India to live on the road, and jewellery appeared to be the first thing they needed. Beside the rows of new shophouses that had sprung up, attap-roofed dwellings, dairies or wheat-grinding sheds still stood next to enclosures for animals servicing the dairies and the slaughterhouse near the mosque. Behind Serangoon Road lay the racecourse, and horses were kept in the roadâs many stables; bleating goats and wandering cows continually obstructed the thoroughfare. Eventually Krishna was free of his clients and Raj hurried towards him to blurt out his news.
âCommunist demonstration at Kreta Ayer. Police shooting guns and some Chinese killed.â Raj beamed, proud to be the bearer of news he knew would be of importance to Krishna.
âCommunists? A demonstration?â Krishna stopped, a bottle of ink in his hand, and stared excitedly at Raj over wire-rimmed spectacles. Only those who knew him closely were aware that Krishna, in spite of his scholarly reputation, was a secret revolutionary. He was well schooled in the writings of Marx and Lenin, and while still in India had been deeply influenced by the fiery rhetoric of the young revolutionary Subhas Chandra Bose. Bose had spoken at a student conference and his words had so inspired Krishna that he had turned to
Once he had made the delivery, Raj did not immediately return to Manikamâs but walked towards the premises of a garland maker beside the temple. Most evenings Krishna was to be found here beneath the templeâs colourful pagoda of gods, taking dictation from the illiterate, writing letters to their families in India. Sitting as he did outside the garland makerâs shop with flowers heaped around him, the sweet perfume of jasmine filling the air and the gods looking down upon him, Krishna had acquired the reputation of unworldly status. His work as a schoolmaster at the Ramakrishna Mission further added to his aura as did his tall, lean frame and deep faraway eyes. People came to him not only for the writing of letters but to consult about marriages, horoscopes and ailments, or for mediation in family quarrels.
When Manikam had finally realised his dependence upon Raj, he had agreed to him taking English and Mathematics lessons from Krishna for a nominal fee. Manikam himself was a literate man, and he viewed the education of Raj as a business investment from which he expected to reap a good profit. Raj had proved an avid pupil, quickly building on the rudimentary education he had received in his village schoolroom. He carried his books with him throughout the day, poring over them at every opportunity behind the counter of Manikamâs Cloth Shop and by an oil lamp late into the night. Krishna could not resist such a willing pupil and soon would take nothing for these lessons, much to Manikamâs satisfaction.
âMy reward will be to see him thrive,â Krishna told Raj and Manikam. A friendship developed between them, Krishna treating Raj like a younger brother, and even when Raj no longer had need of Krishnaâs lessons, they continued to meet.
Now, as Krishna was still busy Raj waited, sitting on a low wall beside a trinket stall piled with gaudy glass bangles. Watching Krishna scratch away with his pen, head bent to his board, listening to the dictation of the men crouched at his feet, Raj remembered the days when he too had waited for Krishna to write a letter for him to his sister Leila. In the darkness the booths and small shops of Serangoon Road were lit by a blaze of oil lamps. The fake diamonds and gaudy gold chains of the trinket stall gleamed seductively. Once, this had been largely a road of men who left their families in India, but times were changing and people had prospered. Those who could afford it were now bringing their wives from India to live on the road, and jewellery appeared to be the first thing they needed. Beside the rows of new shophouses that had sprung up, attap-roofed dwellings, dairies or wheat-grinding sheds still stood next to enclosures for animals servicing the dairies and the slaughterhouse near the mosque. Behind Serangoon Road lay the racecourse, and horses were kept in the roadâs many stables; bleating goats and wandering cows continually obstructed the thoroughfare. Eventually Krishna was free of his clients and Raj hurried towards him to blurt out his news.
âCommunist demonstration at Kreta Ayer. Police shooting guns and some Chinese killed.â Raj beamed, proud to be the bearer of news he knew would be of importance to Krishna.
âCommunists? A demonstration?â Krishna stopped, a bottle of ink in his hand, and stared excitedly at Raj over wire-rimmed spectacles. Only those who knew him closely were aware that Krishna, in spite of his scholarly reputation, was a secret revolutionary. He was well schooled in the writings of Marx and Lenin, and while still in India had been deeply influenced by the fiery rhetoric of the young revolutionary Subhas Chandra Bose. Bose had spoken at a student conference and his words had so inspired Krishna that he had turned to
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