Ramnathan Srinivasan is Dead

         

         

         Ramnathan Srinivasan is dead. He was murdered on an afternoon in the pavement of a street in Rajnagar, a small town in outskirts of Jamshedpur, Jharkhand. His body lies in the streets, unclaimed and unwanted. An angry crowd surrounds the body. Blood oozes out of every possible orifice in his body. The body is mangled. Legs and arms rest in obtuse angles with respect to his body. It’s indeed a sorry sight. Only his eyes betray the scene. A look of sheer amazement and sadness masks his lifeless face. My name is Ramnathan Srinivasan and this is the story of how I die....

As the name suggests I am Tamil. I am from the elite class of Tamil Brahmins. My family resided in a small village named Kurupalli in Tamilnadu. My father was a wealthy landlord. My mother was a simple housewife. I had a little sister Aruna. She was 10 years old.

Lets come to the main topic; how did I die? Well it’s a weird story. Decide for yourself.

I was in the final year in SRCM College of Engineering and Technology. I didn’t have an eye-catching CGPA’s. Just an average 7.5. You know the college life... boozing, weed, girls, bunking...and all those usual crap. Well I don’t want elaborate (want to know more about college life... well read any book by that guy... what’s his name... yeah Chetan Bhagat. You will get the gist). After months of frustration during placements I finally got a job. It was for a company that builds bridges. I was assigned to go to one of their construction sites. It was in Rajnagar, a small town in Jamshedpur, Jharkhand. I returned back to my native village (for the last time... I didn’t know that till then of course). I seeked the blessing of தந்தை (father) and தாய்(mother). Mother was very worried... “How will you manage with those North Indians... you don’t even know Hindi properly”... I wiped her tears and said I will manage. Your son has become a man now.. I said with a smile, hiding my own fears. Father was very happy...” My son is a graduate, he told everyone and anyone who would listen (yeah I was the first graduate in my village). “My son is going to become a great engineer one day”. I bid farewell to all of them. My little சகோதரி (sister) Aruna was too small to get any of this... she only asked me to bring back sweets and toys... she gave me a list lest I forget. With heavy heart I bid them farewell.

“My son is going to become a great engineer one day”... how ironic it seems now. The first day of my job as an engineer and I lay on the streets... bloodied and lifeless.

Remember the posters that say “Today is the first day of the rest of your life”... well, that’s true with every day except one, the day you die.

I reached Rajnagar at 6’o’clock in the morning. Problems started soon. I never bothered to learn and speak Hindi when I was in college. So with broken Hindi and mostly sign language I was able to hire a auto to the company’s guest house. The rooms they provided us were small and congested. Three people in a 12 by 10 foot room... man really awful. I could not stay any longer. I decide to go for a walk. Wrong decision... Dead wrong.

Rajnagar to speak bluntly is a lousy place. Dusty and too many people. Poverty. People living in tents by the roadsides, beggars in the streets. No beer pub or parlour. The shops didn’t have my favourite brand of cigarette. All they had was the gossips of the town, the power cuts, exploits of the local MLA and other nonsense’s. Especially about the recent kidnapping of children from the locality and as to how the kidnapper is still out in the open. So pretty screwed up place to live in for a freshly passed out graduate who is accustomed to the hostel life style. I roamed around the streets aimlessly. Eventually I got lost. It was approaching noon time. The temperature was too high... I was sweating profusely from every pore in my body. I tried to ask for directions but to no avail. Fuck they weren’t even speaking Hindi themselves... some dialect of Hindi...”Thethi” and most of them didn’t understand English. Well screw it anyways. Basically speaking I had no idea where I was. And I was walking in circles through the town. Finally I gave up. I found an old dusty bus-stop and sat there hoping to hop on the first bus that arrives.

The bus stop was pretty desolate. It was around 1pm and a hot loo had set in. The scenes around the old desolate bus stop looked like a scene from the old western cowboy movies. A few kids were playing marbles on the road. Having nothing to do I followed the game. I remembered the marble games I played with Sirnu, the farmer’s boy, who lived in our locality. I was really good at it. Yes I was. The reminiscence brought a smile upon my face. The game in the meanwhile had broken and the children were walking away with their marbles; some those had won were counting the marbles with joy in their eyes while the ones that lost were desperately counting and recounting... adding, subtracting, recounting. Only a small girl remained. She was still collecting her marbles on the road. She reminded me fondly of Aruna. She was wearing a yellow frock. The nearby shopkeepers were closing to take their afternoon siesta.

I could make out the carrier truck from a long distance. It was moving pretty fast. I didn’t realise till much later that the girl hadn’t moved from her place. She was too busy collecting her spoils of the war (read marbles.. what?.. come on.. I can be a little metaphorical... I am dead you remember) to see the approaching truck. I got nervous. I called out to her to look at the truck but the marbles was all she had her eyes on. She didn’t hear... the truck was fast approaching... I instinctively ran towards her and at the last moment caught her and jumped onto the pavement. If I had been a second late she would have been crushed. As I stumbled upon the pavement along with her I lost my balance and hit my head on the pavement... I blacked out

Maybe I had blacked out for a few minutes because when I reopened my eye I saw a great angry mob had surrounded me. I was dazed and confused... I said “பெண் எங்கே ?” but nobody was paying attention to my ramblings. “Where is the girl?”. They were in fury... damn angry about something. One of them kicked me in the stomach... I contorted in excruciating pain. I could barely make out what they were saying. Somebody hit me again on my exposed back...Pain...Pain... I tried to understand what they were saying but to no use... none at all. From the snippets of conversation I head words like kidnapper, choti bachi, mar dena chahiye. Somebody was saying “Ye salon ko yehi khatam kardena hai... sale chote chote bacho ko kidnap kar ke baaech deta hai”... I didn’t know what they were saying but I thought that they were thinking I was a kidnapper. I was in excruciating pain. My concussed head was spinning. I said ”But i saved the kid.. I am not a kidnapper.. Ask the kid”.. but they couldn’t understand me . I pleaded, “குழந்தை கேள்.. ask the kid” ... upon seeing that I was getting my strength back one of the guy started hitting me. Someone other said from behind “Mar dalo sale ko”... My death sentence.

Kicks rained in from every direction. Hundreds of legs... maybe thousands. Some had brought lathis and pole and then started hitting me in the arms and legs... I heard... more than I felt my leg and arms break. There were too many people hitting. It blocked the sun... I couldn’t see a ray of light. Maybe I was passing out because of the excruciating pain... I don’t know. I could not breath any more.. my ribs had been broken and lungs had collapsed. More lathis... more kicks... more crunches of breaking bones... more pain... pain beyond toleration. Suddenly everything went numb. Blows and kicks still raining on my back... but I was numb. Maybe this was dying. I was glad... relived. I laid face down on the pavement. Through the uncountable number of legs of my prosecutors I caught a glimpse of the girl. She was sitting on the pavement crying into her knees... helpless. I thought of raising my hand. But I didn’t know where it was...

I have heard that you entire life flashes in front of you the second before you die. First of all that one second isn’t a second at all, it stretches on forever like an ocean of time. For me, it was lying on the grass in the garden of my house watching the clouds. And the red leaves of the Gulmohar tree that lined our street back home. And the first time I saw my friend Sirnu’s brand new marble set. And the girl I saved... the girl in yellow frock... my sister Aruna... the girl reminded me of her.

The girl raises her head from her knees. With tears in her eyes she looks for me among those murderous legs and lathis... our eyes meet......

This story is based on a true event.