Yellow Lights of Death

by Benyamin

  ‘Did Papa tell you anything before leaving? Like where he was going . . . or something . . .?’ I came to the topic.

  ‘He didn’t even tell me he was leaving. But I think there is nothing to worry about. Wherever he goes, he won’t forget us. Once he is safe, he’ll call. I’m sure about it. For a long time now, I’ve been having a feeling that it’s time for us to leave this Diego. He must have felt the same.’

  ‘What makes you feel so, Valyapapan?’

  ‘We are rulers and traders. When we lost both, our ancestors never stayed put. That’s our Andrapper family history.’

  Without asking anything, I left the room. For me, his words resembled the ramblings of a hopeless dreamer. They had no connection whatsoever with our present lives or events. They won’t help to find Papa.

  I took the boat and did a round. There was no particular destination. My confused days are always like this. Just keep rowing for a while. The journey will find the destination all by itself. This time, it stopped in front of the North Public Security office.

  After getting a verbal thrashing from ID Stephen Andrapper last time, I’d consciously avoided all possible meetings with him. I’d successfully avoided him during Philip Gunavardhane’s funeral too. Embarrassed about recommending a fraud to him. But if I continued to cling to my fear, it wouldn’t be possible to trace Papa.

  Luckily, Stephen uncle was in his office. And he was not busy. I didn’t have to say anything. He had heard about Papa. They were very close and shared all secrets. Stephen uncle knew more about Papa’s private life than I did. But he, too, had no idea why Papa had left. He suspected that Papa must have left the country. But not by air. Stephen uncle had already checked that. There was no inquiry against Papa from the government’s side. ‘Papa is not a swindler. He is a synonym for discipline and detail,’ Stephen uncle said clearly. ‘All other news are made-up ones.’ Then, where is Papa? Why did he leave . . .? Both of us got stuck before these questions.

  ‘I’m doing everything possible from my side. Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to him. We’ll find him,’ Stephen uncle tried to assure me. I sat there helplessly for some more time, and then got up in disappointment.

  Art of Living

  THAT NIGHT, FOR the first time, I went to Papa’s office room. When everyone in the house, living in the shadow of sadness, went to their bedrooms, an idea struck me. To open and see Papa’s room. To see and feel the secrecy of the room, which I’d never entered for the past twenty-eight years. He must have left at least a clue, even if unintentional. As far as I’ve heard, it was not a planned exile. It was only a reaction to a sudden situation. If there was some secret behind it, then he wouldn’t have had the time to hide it. So I was hoping to find something in the room that could lead me to Papa.

  As a kid, I had not been allowed to enter the room. And not just me, everyone in the house. Though Papa had never said so, still everyone observed it as an unwritten rule. When I grew up, the room faded away from my memory. Like a strange, dark hole in the house, the room was blank to me. Now I stood in that room with the curiosity of getting introduced to a new man. I’d never seen an office room kept so neat and tidy. Papers and files were in order. A clean table. Two or three pens in a cup with a picture of a kangaroo. A small globe. An old pager. A tiny bell. A notepad. A three-in-one smoking set. A table calendar. A picture of St. Antony. A rosary. A small doll. Some finance, politics and law books on the table and the shelf. On the wall, a wooden Buddha seated on a snake. On top of the shelf, a small pharaoh.

  Instantly, I felt high regard for Papa, and a little jealousy. I’ve never thought such a civilized way of life existed in his character. I was of the opinion that he was a wealthy, coarse man who lived immersed in his accounts. Even an aspirational writer like me didn’t have such a beautiful table. On my desk, you would only find scattered papers, old books, cap-less pens and empty tea glasses. I realized that there existed another Papa beyond my comprehension. A Papa whom I did not know. I went through every paper and book in the room searching for the new Papa. I was in the room till past midnight. I found an old diary in his drawer, about three years old. With curiosity, and the guilty feeling of overhearing a confession secret, I flipped the pages one by one . . . Most of them were accounts about cash transactions. From insurance amount to electricity bill, everything had been recorded in it. The diary showed me that he had done bigger dealings with people than I expected. Most of the names were unknown to me. Names that never figured in regular conversations at the dinner table. These must have been contacts outside his friends’ circle. I wondered what business Papa was doing to be able to handle so much money. He had some investments in the share market. Other than that, I never thought he and the Andrapper family would have these many movable assets. The diary said nothing about his daily life. So, it wasn’t a book that revealed Papa’s life. I combed the room further, and stumbled upon a few photo albums. I was seeing them for the first time. It was customary to call a photographer during every function at home, but I never knew where these photos were kept. I was under the notion that the exercise was just a show-off act and the photos never got collected afterwards. But Papa’s discipline in arranging the photos surprised me. His account book and the photos justified his right to shout at my laziness.

  I went through each album carefully. It was a huge collection of photos old and new. It could be called a visual archive of the Andrapper family history. If Valyapapan had collected history through books, Papa did it through these photos. It had images of all the major events and functions. With dates and captions for each. Starting with a few tattered images of Valyappachan and Valyamooma, it moves on to Papa’s childhood pictures. Various stages of his growth. The glory days of the Andrapper family are engraved in the photos. Photos of celebrations, get-togethers and parties with a lot of people; photos of leisure trips to various countries; photos of the Andrapper house hosting famous world leaders; photos of weddings, baptisms and holy masses; photos of deaths and funerals . . . A long period of time was floating in front of my eyes. Through these photos, I was seeing many events in my life for the first time or remembering them after a long time.

  ‘My first love’ read a black-and-white photo among them, of a young girl. Someone who was ten times prettier than Momma! It opened before me another secret door to Papa. Oh God, there was a lover in Papa too? He had a heart that could fall in love? I couldn’t believe it. What had happened to that lover? Why didn’t that marriage take place.? Was he living all these years holding that love inside? Where was this girl now? Is she still inside his heart? A bunch of questions that were like riddles. For a minute, I even thought that he might have eloped with her after all these years.

  Other than the private and family photos, the rest were party pictures taken at night. I tried anxiously to find out whether his friends who were not known to me would be there. But there was no one in them whom I didn’t know or had not seen before. I was disappointed. Without any oversight, Papa had hid those who he had to hide. I was almost wrapping up my search. But the photos in an album that I got from the corner of a shelf really shocked me. It was of a party at a hotel terrace at night. With a glittering pool as a background, Papa was raising a wine glass, saying cheers, and with him I found a familiar face, smiling, and this started burning me from inside. Dr Iqbal! Papa and him? What’s the relationship? They must have some connection, something that I missed, I tried to pacify myself. But the next photos shattered me. It was easy to recognise another face. With a wine glass in hand, it was a half-naked Jesintha! In the next photo, papa was holding her close! In another one, Papa and she were saying cheers to a stranger. Another one had more unknown people—to me—with papa. Then women posing with Papa. Visuals of them sharing booze with him. Of them sitting on his lap. I got worried whether what Jesintha had said might be true. The last photo was the one that struck me the most. Papa and Jesintha at a dinner table. Opposite them, the guy who was there in Anpu’s phone video!

 
Phone Book

  NEXT MORNING, WITHOUT any notice, the Public Security raided our house. Officials of the law department and vigilance barged into the house without asking permission and started searching. It surprised us that Stephen uncle was also among them. He ignored us and even Valyapapan, and acted like an honest officer. When I had gone to meet him yesterday, he had told me there was no probe against Papa. Now he himself was at the helm of it. If he had come to know about it only this morning, he could still have called and told us. Not for anything, but just to prepare the mind. But he didn’t. Okay, let it be. We have nothing to hide. Andrapper House is an open house. Anyone can walk in any time. But Momma was perturbed. Valyapapan’s expression was that of a total loser’s. This must be a first in their lives. A Diego law officer coming to them with an order! They have only seen officers who obey. It took a while to pacify them. The officers took everyone to a room and checked the house for hours. They spent most of the time in the Room of the Forefathers and Papa’s office. They came out with lots of diaries from Papa’s room that I’d missed yesterday. From the ancestral room, they seized documents of the Andrapper family history and of the deals with the French government. Valyapapan, in a feeble voice, tried to stop them from taking the official records of the family, but the officers didn’t pay any heed. From Chettan’s room, they took the laptop and some CDs, calling them ‘suspicious’. From my room, they couldn’t get anything incriminating. So, in a fit of anger, they took Theogin’s A French Ship’s Journey to India 1642 and Kanyabhogasooktham. The other books of mine were all literary. Who wants them? But I was left wondering from where they got the Kanyabhogasooktham that had been missing for some days. Luckily, I had taken Papa’s diary that I had read and the photo albums to my room. When the officers came, I had thrown them in the laundry basket. So they were not found.

  After the swoop had gone on for four long hours, Stephen uncle came to our room with other senior officers. Their faces were not familiar. ‘None of you should leave Diego. The country is confiscating your passports. If Mathew Andrapper calls you or if you get any news of him, you should inform the Public Security immediately. Nobody should try to act over-smart. Remember that everyone is under our observation,’ said Stephen uncle.

  ‘What did he do?’ asked Momma. They replied with just a harsh stare. A long while after that, the house was numb. The kitchen maids who had left the house during the raid stood panicked at the steps and the compound. Nobody understood anything. What was happening or what could be done. None of our relatives or friends came or called. We didn’t want help from anyone, but we wanted to know what the charge was against Papa. But nobody came forward with anything. That’s how friendships are—for good times.

  I survived those moments when time stood still by going through my mobile’s phone book. The names that appeared were not mere names. They were memories. They were long relationships. They were time periods. They were dreams and hopes and promises. But I didn’t bother to renew any relationship or promise. But then came Daniel D’Silva’s name. My fingers stopped there. After thinking for a long time, I decided to call him. I needed to know what exactly was happening here. But he seemed to know of it only when I told him. So that means not many have come to know of it in Diego. Fortunately.

  ‘I’ll call you back in ten minutes,’ he said. But after half an hour when he didn’t call, I got annoyed and called him. He didn’t pick up. I realized he was avoiding me. The contempt I felt for myself! Why did I call, I thought. After a while, a message came—from Daniel. ‘Sorry, I can’t tell you that. Be careful. Don’t contact me again.’

  That message worsened my confusion. The photos that I saw yesterday, Jesintha’s words that Papa was a womanizer, and this message from Daniel D’Silva all put together had started to give me a sore head. What crime could Papa have committed that he couldn’t reveal it to me? Did he steal something? Kill someone? Rape? I wanted to share my thoughts with someone. But with whom? Chettan was weaker than me. Momma and Valyapapan were already miserable. Who else was there? A friend? A girlfriend? No, no one. Oh God. After twenty-eight years on this earth, when I needed to share my worries during a crucial time, I found myself so lonely. Why did I have to live this long? If I had failed to make a single good friend, how could I be called a human being?

  I pulled out some photos from Papa’s album, stuffed them into my pocket, and left for Port Louis. Jesintha was my target. She was the only route left to reach Papa. I had to find her even if she avoided me or hid from me. On the way, I called her. I thought she wouldn’t pick up, but she surprised me again. When I told her I wanted to meet her, she agreed to be at the regular coffee shop in half an hour. On my way, I told myself a thousand times that this time I wouldn’t stumble over my words, that I would see through all her designs. Halfway to the coffee shop, I remembered Abdul Majid. I’d told him that I would go to his Pondicherry house, now what will I tell him? What excuse can I give? So I went to a shop on the other side of his. I sat in the corner so that I could see Jesintha from a distance, and ordered coffee. Suddenly, someone patted me on my shoulder. I shuddered and turned around. It was Vijay Mullikratnam!

  He grinned.

  ‘Dude, long time. What’s up? No new cases?’ he asked, as if making fun of me.

  ‘Of course. A missing-person case. Why, can you find him for me?’ I retorted with some bite.

  ‘Oh God . . . again a missing case? I’m fed up with you. Okay, give this to me in writing. Within two days, I’ll find the person. Nobody has understood the real Vijay Mullikratnam,’ he said, stretching his chest.

  ‘OK then, take this. My Papa has been missing for the past few days. Are you capable of finding him?’ I didn’t relent.

  ‘Who? Your father? That nice man? What happened to him . . .?’ he appeared surprised.

  ‘I told you. Missing. Just missing. You are a smart officer. Can you find him?’

  ‘Are you serious? Or are you making fun of me?’ He was not convinced.

  ‘Actually, I was making fun of you. But what I said is true. Papa is missing.’

  ‘Your Papa? He was one of my best friends. What happened to him?’ He seemed not to believe it.

  ‘Best friend? Still the smart officer doesn’t know what has been going on? What a pity!’ I poked him further.

  He didn’t reply. He sat brooding for a while and then went out and rang up someone. Then he rang up more and more people. At first I looked at him with contempt. But this faded when I saw him making so many calls and the changing expressions on his face. My heart was beating furiously. I understood that he was getting some serious information.

  ‘What has happened, sir?’ I went to him.

  He put his hand around my shoulder and took me to a secluded place. ‘Junior Andrapper, I have been on suspension for the past one month. I didn’t know a thing. The department thinks that I’ve taken a bribe from some group in India to settle the Senthil case. I have not taken any money from anyone. I don’t need to do it. The person who asked me to settle the case is your relative, Stephen Pereira. He is still a favourite of the department. Welcome to Diego.’

  ‘Tell me what has happened to my Papa . . .’

  ‘You really don’t know that yet?’

  ‘No, I swear!’

  ‘Don’t panic. Some four days ago, he was arrested from Diego airport!’

  ‘Arrested? But Stephen uncle said . . . Papa was . . .’ I fumbled for words.

  ‘I don’t know about that. As far as I know, he is in some jail.’

  ‘For what? What crime did my Papa commit?’

  ‘Dude, I’m really sorry. I am under suspension!’

  He left me there and walked away. I felt all alone, as if I was the only man on earth.

  Criminal

  JESINTHA HAD CALLED me at least three times before I took her call. I was numb.

  ‘Where are you? After saying this was urgent and all . . .?’ She was angry.

  I took her to the coffee shop where I had been si
tting.

  ‘What has happened to you? You look like you have some disease,’ she said.

  It was true. I felt exhausted, ill.

  ‘What has happened to my Papa?’ I asked, leaning on the bench.

  ‘Your Papa . . .? How do I know . . .?’

  ‘You know. You know. I won’t let you go unless you tell me.’ I grabbed her like a mad man.

  ‘Are you drunk?’ she asked and shoved me away.

  ‘Jesintha, you’ve fooled me in the past saying many things. This time I won’t leave you. I won’t fall for your words. Tell me, where is my Papa?’

  People at the coffee shop started noticing us. Some of them gathered around us and started being protective of Jesintha. But she discouraged them, saying it was a private matter. She then took me out for a walk. ‘I know you aren’t drunk. Tell me, what has happened to you?’ She held me as if I were a patient and made me sit on a roadside bench.

  ‘You know why my Papa ended up in jail. Jesintha, please, you should tell me . . . Please.’

  ‘Your Papa in jail? I don’t even know him, da. Really. How will I then . . .?’ There was genuine helplessness on her face.

  ‘You don’t know him for sure?’ I asked her.

  ‘No.’

  I took the photo out from my pocket and threw it in front of her. ‘Now say again that you don’t know my Papa.’ She took it and sat looking at it for a long time.

  ‘You don’t know him?’ I repeated the question.

  She sat there staring at the photo, without uttering a word.

  ‘You don’t know him even a bit?’ I asked her again.

  ‘I know . . .’ she broke the silence. ‘But I didn’t know he was your Papa!’

  ‘Jesintha, please. Again, you’re playing games. We are stuck in a terrible situation. I’ve come to know that Papa is in jail. I want to know the reason. At least now you should tell me the truth. How did you come to know Papa? What’s the relationship between the two of you?’