Lakshmipuram Moorthy *****

Moorthy was on a high roll. Everyone within earshot was looking at him in rapt attention. Some a little further away were moving nearer. For the people of the sleepy little village of Lakshmipuram, his words held a fascination.

“Do you think these politicians are sincere? They will promise you anything. Once they have your vote, they will steal everything they can. Do you know how many houses your MLA Tamaraichelvan has built.. ha. He wears huge gold rings on all his fingers. And whose money is it ? Yours. Uncle Kaliappan, you slog all day in the fields, and they tax you. That’s where your money is going – for the good life of the politicians.”

Talk of tax got Kaliappan all riled up. “They took away more than half my income this year. The thieves. I knew they are all crooks.” He fumed.

“The whole Government machinery is corrupted. Nothing moves without a bribe.”

Karuppayya snorted. “திருட்டு பசங்க . அந்த காலத்துல …. “ (crooks. In those days…) he stopped, realising no one was listening. Karuppayya was an ex-farmer, having lost his farm in a particularly bad year. He blamed everyone for what had happened. Except himself.

Moorthy works in Chennai as a dispatch clerk . In the course of his job, he comes in contact with many people of real and pretended importance. He commutes back to Lakshmipuram almost every weekend. On these occasions, he was a purveyor of inside news and gossip . To the people of Lakshmipuram, Moorthy’s visits were a welcome respite from their otherwise sedentary lives, and offered a window on the outside world. A nasty world full of crooked, immoral and dishonest people.

“Uncle, do you know how much bank staffs are paid ? Even the clerks get Rs30,000. Every month.” The villagers looked at him agape. It took a while for the magnitude of this princely amount to register.

“I don’t even make that amount in one year,” Kasi the temple priest sounded desolate.

Moorthy continued, “Hmm. And what do they do ? Sit around and chit chat all day. The officers get 3 times that amount. And who knows how much they get under the table?”

Kaththavarayan looked at Moorthy. He recalled his last trip to the bank in Tirunelveli, to check on his loan application. The clerks and officers had given him the run around. He had returned home empty handed.

Kalaivany was standing behind the pillar. Eyes downcast, she looked up whenever Moorthy spoke. Moorthy’s words were music to her ears. She didn’t care what he said. She just wanted to hear him speak. She was fascinated by his facial expressions, and his hand gestures. Moorthy knew Kalaivany was listening. And he piled on the bravado.

“Chennai people are all immoral. The way the girls behave – che - shameful. And the boys – you cannot trust them for a minute. In my job, I see and hear so much.”

The men moved closer, hoping to hear some juicy gossip. Moorthy was encouraged by the ready audience. The weekend trips became his regular fix, charging him up for the coming week of drudgery in his humdrum Chennai job.

Letchumanan looked dazed. He looked perpetually dazed. The retired postmaster did little thinking. His worldview was quite narrow, and most of it shaped by what Moorthy and others said.

Dheenadayal sat several yards away. He couldn’t help hearing Moorthy’s words. In his fifties, Dheenadayal was a teacher. A man of few words, he seldom responded to Moorthy’s tirades. Somehow this made Moorthy direct his attention more on Dheenadayal.

“Uncle. You are such a dedicated teacher. What have you got for all your years of slogging ? Do you know why you are not getting your due ? Because the great thief Pandian is Education Minister. He has stashed crores in Swiss Bank Accounts. Money which rightly belongs to the hard working teachers,” he taunted. Dheenadayal kept silent. He listened. He did not want to offend. He knew it would serve no purpose.

Moorthy saw Dheenadayal’s wife, Kalyani approaching.
“Aunty,” he called out, “I found out the most shocking thing. I personally heard this from someone in the Veperi Madam.”

Hearing this, Kalyani looked troubled.
“Moorthy, அபாண்டமா ஏதும் சொல்லாதப்பா . தோஷம் உண்டு .” (Moorthy, don’t make any wild statements. It is sinful.)

“Aunty. I too pray to Veperi Swamigal. His picture is in our house altar too. But this is the truth. I heard it from Sundararajan, who is an insider in the Madam.”
Dheenadayal signaled to his wife. “ஆத்துல உங்கம்மா தனியா இருக்கா . வா போகலாம் .” (Your mother is alone at home. Let’s go.)

“Uncle. Please don’t misunderstand. I am only telling the truth. Sundararajan saw it himself. Veperi Swamigal has been involved in some bad activities.”

“Siva Siva,” Kalyani put her hands on her ears.

“வா போகலாம் ,” Dheenadayal started to walk away, followed by Kalyani. The rest of the crowd moved closer, waiting for more sordid details. Letchumanan was even more confused now. Is he talking about Veperi Swamigal ? The Revered One that he and his father and grandfather had considered a divine being? The One whose picture was the centerpiece of their home altar ? Letchumanan shook his head vigorously, as if that would clear his mind.

“கேவலம் . சுவாமிகளுக்கு பெண் சகவாசம் இருக்காம் . கண்ணால பார்த்தவா சொன்னா .” (Even more shameful, Swami has illicit relationships with women. People have seen it with their own eyes.) Moorthy continued.

Dheenadayal walked briskly, followed by Kalyani. Kalyani was in tears.

Letchumanan looked intently at Moorthy. Moorthy smiled and nodded.

Prakash listened intently. Prakash was an avid scholar. He had read so much about the Swamigal, as he had about almost any subject. He listened a lot too. But never spoke. He was a mute.

***

Kaliappan was at the Taluk office. He had to get some papers signed.
“சார் , கொஞ்சம் உக்காருங்க . இத முடிச்சுட்டு உங்க விஷயத்த கவனிக்கறேன் ,” (Sir, please sit down. As soon as I finish this matter I will attend to you) the officer was courteous as always.

Kaliappan recalled what Moorthy had said. “You fellows are all like this. Corrupted. I know you are expecting me to bribe you. But I won’t. I pay taxes. I demand service.” He raised his voice. Several people looked his way. The officer was annoyed but calm.
“Ayya, I have dealt with you so many times. Have I ever asked for a bribe? Please don’t make wild statements.”

But Kaliappan wouldn’t stop. He kept shouting at the top of his voice.

***
Kasi looked at the deity. He had been serving the Temple for many years, but still lived from hand-to-mouth. Why was Mariamma not opening her eyes to his woes? The fat cats at the banks are making so much. But his earning was a pittance. Then Kasi saw the Undiyal, the donation box, located near the door. He looked behind him. There was no one around. He moved towards the Undiyal.

***
Letchumanan sat at his home altar. His eyes rested on the large picture of Veperi Swamigal. The vulgar images of the Swamigal with a woman played on his mind. He shook his head vigorously. But the images kept returning. Suddenly he grabbed the picture and threw it against the far wall, shattering it.

Letchumanan felt lonely and helpless. The One he had depended upon for help in every situation was no longer available. Only the vulgar images kept coming.


***

Karuppayya stopped his moped by the roadside. As he approached the wall to ease himself, he saw the poster. The larger than life image of MLA Tamaraichelvan smiled back at him. “திருட்டு ராஸ்கல் .” (thieving rascal). He sprayed Tamaraichelvan with urine. Then he saw the other poster. It was Veperi Swamigal. Karuppayya moved to the side and sprayed the Swamigal too.

***

Kalyani sat at the altar in meditation. She opened her eyes. Lighting the arathi, she saw the image of Veperi Swamigal, at the altar. Momentarily Moorthy’s words came to her mind. She pushed them aside. “Swami, அவன் தெரியாம ஏதேதோ சொல்லறான் . அவன மன்னிச்சுடுங்கோ .” (Swami, he is saying many things unknowingly. Please forgive him). She waved the arathi around the Swamigal’s picture.


***

Dheenadayal came down to the prayer room after his bath. As he sat at the altar, he prayed for the welfare of the world. “Samastha Loka Sukhino Bhavanthu.”
He opened his eyes. His gaze fell on the picture of Veperi Swamigal. He did not think of what Moorthy had said. Instead he remembered what the Swamigal had said. “Different people will say different things. Take only what is good. Take only what is beneficial. The rest is garbage. To be disposed of. And forgotten.”


***

Prakash sat in contemplation. He had seen with his own eyes the work done by the followers of Veperi Swamigal. Swamigal’s words had transformed millions, helping them to move Godwards. His words had inspired so many, making them moral beacons in society. Many thousands were involved with community service and educational projects benefiting millions. Then Prakash thought of Moorthy’s words. What he had said was improbable, and at the same time irrelevant. It would not detract from Swamigal’s message or mission in any way.

***

Kalaivany lay on her bed. She smiled as she thought of Moorthy. How dashing he looked in the blue shirt and black jeans. And he was so well informed. Everyone listened to him. He must be somebody in Chennai. And she giggled to herself as she recalled how he had kept glancing at her that morning.