Community Immunity!
The professor was stepping into the class room. Balan who wanted to rush in before him to take his seat stood frozen. Beside his usual place was seated Maaran. To sit near Maaran? He looked around but there was no vacant seat nearby. The hush that fell at the entrance of the professor turned all eyes to the one standing. As if that was not enough the imbecile Maaran moved a bit and signalled Balan to sit near him. The next minute Balan jumped the steps to reach the top of the gallery and sat down proudly lifting his collars.
Balan was the son of a (supposed to be) high caste Thirumalai Nadar. Along with milk, he was fed the passion for his caste. The first seed that was planted in his heart was when he was four years old. His father found him playing with the gardener’s son, caught him by the collar, dragged him inside the house and screamed, “Next time I see you playing with Harijan rats, I’ll skin you alive.” As he grew up the oft repeated introduction to his name, “Nadar’s son” poured water to the seed.
Balan, Thangamani and Chandran were inseparable friends called the Trio. One day when they were snacking in the canteen Maaran walked towards them and sat with a smile. When Balan developed hiccups he pushed his tumbler of water towards him. Seated near the window Balan threw the water out and walked out briskly. Maaran’s black face became blacker.
On that unforgettable day the Trio went to the Lake for swimming. They had a whale of a time with back stroke, butterfly stroke and the like. Suddenly — “Balan, Balan...Balan.” There was absolute silence except the echo. No one was in sight. There was no sight of Balan anywhere. Thangamani and Chandran quickly climbed out with shaking thighs. They changed their dresses fast and walked as if nothing happened. They had not even an iota of courage to look back at the waters that swallowed Balan.
At the far end of the lake Karuppan jumped in to snatch a good shorts that was floating. “Oh, no, its a deadbody” he gasped. He swam and picked it up on his shoulders. It felt warm. He laid him on the shore and clapped his hands to call his friend. Kandan came running and swung Balan by the feet—the first aid he had learnt for drowning victims. Balan vomitted water. Kandan put his mouth to Balan’s mouth and breathed in. Balan’s chest heaved, “Hoi, bring two blankets” shouted Karuppan to his wife. They shifted Balan to his hut.
The Police van picked up Balan and for help, Karuppan and his wife. They left their four children with the neighbours and climbed in. “So sad, whose son can he be?” murmured Mookammal, clucking her tongue symphathetically. “If he dies, You’ll have to testify in the court, understand?” said the policeman gruffly. “Sure sir, we’ll come. We can’t be fussy when a life is at stake.”
After three hours Balan opened his eyes. “He’s coming round, he’s coming round” shouted the excited Karuppan couple. “Here son, drink this tea” said Mookammal as she carefully pourd in the tea sip by sip.
Balan came to know what happened. He understood that all who gave him life were Harijans. “Who are you?” asked Karuppan. “I am the son of Nadar...” was at the tip of his tongue. But he said, “I am a Harijan. Harijan means God’s children and that’s what I am. Do I not belong to you since it is your breath I am breathing?” Karuppan smiled broadly exhibiting his betel-stained teeth, as if he understood Balan’s philosophy.
Entering college again, Balan’s eyes darted here and there in search of Maaran. There he was! “Dei Maara, what’s for lunch today?” He pulled his khaki bag and pulled out his alluminium tiffin box. “Ha, tamarind curry! Super! That’s my favourite.” He stuffed his mouth with the food with a gorrilla’s laughter, that seemed to say, “Maaran, please forgive me.” “I have developed some immunity to community” said a shy Balan. You mean, “Community Immunity?” smiled Maaran putting his hand on Balan’s shoulder.
Dr. Lilian Stanley
13 Church Colony
Vellore 632006, India
+91 9843511943
lilianstanley@gmail.com
Blessing Youth Mission
13 Church Colony
Vellore 632006, India
+91-416-2242943, +91-416-2248943
hq@bymonline.org
www.bymonline.org
Click here for more options
To buy books written by Dr. Lilian Stanley, kindly reach to us in the follwing address
Blessing Literature Centre
21/11 West Coovam River Road,
Chintadripet,
Chennai 600 002, India.
+91-44-28450411, 8806270699
blc@bymonline.org
Community Immunity!
The professor was stepping into the class room. Balan who wanted to rush in before him to take his seat stood frozen. Beside his usual place was seated Maaran. To sit near Maaran? He looked around but there was no vacant seat nearby. The hush that fell at the entrance of the professor turned all eyes to the one standing. As if that was not enough the imbecile Maaran moved a bit and signalled Balan to sit near him. The next minute Balan jumped the steps to reach the top of the gallery and sat down proudly lifting his collars.
Balan was the son of a (supposed to be) high caste Thirumalai Nadar. Along with milk, he was fed the passion for his caste. The first seed that was planted in his heart was when he was four years old. His father found him playing with the gardener’s son, caught him by the collar, dragged him inside the house and screamed, “Next time I see you playing with Harijan rats, I’ll skin you alive.” As he grew up the oft repeated introduction to his name, “Nadar’s son” poured water to the seed.
Balan, Thangamani and Chandran were inseparable friends called the Trio. One day when they were snacking in the canteen Maaran walked towards them and sat with a smile. When Balan developed hiccups he pushed his tumbler of water towards him. Seated near the window Balan threw the water out and walked out briskly. Maaran’s black face became blacker.
On that unforgettable day the Trio went to the Lake for swimming. They had a whale of a time with back stroke, butterfly stroke and the like. Suddenly — “Balan, Balan...Balan.” There was absolute silence except the echo. No one was in sight. There was no sight of Balan anywhere. Thangamani and Chandran quickly climbed out with shaking thighs. They changed their dresses fast and walked as if nothing happened. They had not even an iota of courage to look back at the waters that swallowed Balan.
At the far end of the lake Karuppan jumped in to snatch a good shorts that was floating. “Oh, no, its a deadbody” he gasped. He swam and picked it up on his shoulders. It felt warm. He laid him on the shore and clapped his hands to call his friend. Kandan came running and swung Balan by the feet—the first aid he had learnt for drowning victims. Balan vomitted water. Kandan put his mouth to Balan’s mouth and breathed in. Balan’s chest heaved, “Hoi, bring two blankets” shouted Karuppan to his wife. They shifted Balan to his hut.
The Police van picked up Balan and for help, Karuppan and his wife. They left their four children with the neighbours and climbed in. “So sad, whose son can he be?” murmured Mookammal, clucking her tongue symphathetically. “If he dies, You’ll have to testify in the court, understand?” said the policeman gruffly. “Sure sir, we’ll come. We can’t be fussy when a life is at stake.”
After three hours Balan opened his eyes. “He’s coming round, he’s coming round” shouted the excited Karuppan couple. “Here son, drink this tea” said Mookammal as she carefully pourd in the tea sip by sip.
Balan came to know what happened. He understood that all who gave him life were Harijans. “Who are you?” asked Karuppan. “I am the son of Nadar...” was at the tip of his tongue. But he said, “I am a Harijan. Harijan means God’s children and that’s what I am. Do I not belong to you since it is your breath I am breathing?” Karuppan smiled broadly exhibiting his betel-stained teeth, as if he understood Balan’s philosophy.
Entering college again, Balan’s eyes darted here and there in search of Maaran. There he was! “Dei Maara, what’s for lunch today?” He pulled his khaki bag and pulled out his alluminium tiffin box. “Ha, tamarind curry! Super! That’s my favourite.” He stuffed his mouth with the food with a gorrilla’s laughter, that seemed to say, “Maaran, please forgive me.” “I have developed some immunity to community” said a shy Balan. You mean, “Community Immunity?” smiled Maaran putting his hand on Balan’s shoulder.
Dr. Lilian Stanley
13 Church Colony
Vellore 632006, India
+91 9843511943
lilianstanley@gmail.com
Blessing Youth Mission
13 Church Colony
Vellore 632006, India
+91-416-2242943, +91-416-2248943
hq@bymonline.org
www.bymonline.org
Click here for more options
To buy books written by Dr. Lilian Stanley, kindly reach to us in the follwing address
Blessing Literature Centre
21/11 West Coovam River Road,
Chintadripet,
Chennai 600 002, India.
+91-44-28450411, Mob:8806270699
blc@bymonline.org
