He is sitting on the edge of the beach. Today is the last day of his life. He is going to commit suicide. Your guess is right, he is a poet.

You are of course aware that great men never die of illness. They usually choose to kill themselves. But even if he isn’t such a great poet, this act of suicide will surely confer greatness upon him. You can say that he possesses all the requisites of a great poet: a face dripping sorrow; eyes filled with fear and dismay; a meaningful smile that hides his teeth. What’s more, no one ever understands his poems either. And only magazines with a print-run of no more than three hundred ever publish them. If he lives, it will only be on account of those three hundred people. But it could also be said that besides Rajakumari these three hundred people too are in a way responsible for his wanting to commit suicide.

You might want to know who Rajakumari is. Rajakumari is a simple girl, reasonably good looking. Who has no taste, however, for poetry. But her not liking poetry doesn’t worry him in the least. After all, there is no law which says that reasonably good looking girls should like poetry. Anyway, it was only Rajakumari who told him that she loved him. But he never said that he returned her love. You can’t, however, say that he doesn’t like her. Or that he likes her either. His poetic mind is not used to taking decisions. He is of the belief that life’s beauty lies in its uncertainty. Who ever said that the human mind is a decision-making machine.

But in the end, he was unfortunately forced to take a decision. He’d rejected Rajakumari’s love (declared in as decisive a voice as possible). He didn’t understand why he did so. There is no big difference really between a decision taken with a clear head and one taken under pressure. Any decision, it has been proven, turns out to be sometimes right and sometimes wrong. You could say the same of this decision to commit suicide too

There have been many times he’d come to this very beach to commit suicide and returned alive. It can be said that he neither has the enormous guts nor cowardice necessary to commit suicide. But that won’t hold true today. Today he is determined to commit suicide.

He gets up and walks towards the sea. At the edge of the beach he seats himself, stretching out his legs so that the waves can gently stroke them. He will surely commit suicide after watching the waves for a bit.

O the sea! What an amazing thing it is. Brimming over even beyond where the eyes can see. Gigantic waves pouncing with such frenzy. Waves, big and small, rubbing against each other and breaking into pieces with such a noise at the edge – he likes all that very much. That crushing, big sound which evokes such a deep emotion in his heart is rather wonderful. The silence that prevails for a second when the waves retreat seems to him like the silence that visits after death. The sea in the end always reminds him of death. Nature’s bounty is always a nuisance to mankind. The moment you encounter it, it seems to ridicule man’s helplessness.

A golden tinge spreads over the sky, marking the setting of the sun. Two boats can be seen far away. Fishermen are busy checking the dried nets spread across the sands. Beedi smoke and the smell of sweat waft around as they cross him to and fro. One of them, a slightly old man, luxuriant moustache, blazing eyes and all, smiles at him. When he smiles in return, he can’t but help think of the smell of sweat the man emits.

In a way you can say that body odour too is one of the causes of the friction between Rajakumari and him. The first smile she flashed at him at Prince’s Corner along with the smell of sweat that she gave out comes to his mind. Poor thing! Inexperienced girl. Wonder what she sees in him? He wants to shout out a theatrical laugh thinking of his worthless life. Opening his mouth wide, he laughs loudly into the sea.

Truth to tell, his life is entirely inconsequential. His name is Rahul K. Naik. Gujarati. Poor. Age 24. 6 feet, 1 inch. Thin. Brown. A blunt long nose. The neck and head, of seemingly the same size, stretched across. In short, he is as attractive as a chameleon. Has studied till Class Eight. He knows neither English nor Gujarati well. Knows a little – very little, really – Tamil. It’s this which gave him the temerity to write in it. Fortunately, his poetry did nothing to Tamil, a language which has been around even longer than stones and mud.

He came to Chennai six months ago on the hope of becoming a great man by writing poems. But even as he got down at Central Station he knew that his dream wouldn’t come true. To date none of his dreams has ever come true. Back home he has a widowed mother, a sister who ran away with a tailor, tiny younger siblings – in such family backgrounds dreams remain but dreams.

Acquaintanceship with poverty is nothing new to him. In his thirteenth year itself he had experienced the kind of gnawing hunger which feels as if mice are running amok in an empty stomach. He’d never worn anything other than torn shirts and chappals. He took all this burden as a matter of course. He knew very well that India’s poverty is as boundless as her infinite spirituality.

He stayed at a relative’s place and searched high and low for a job. On the side he wrote plenty of poems. After trudging up and down several shops, he finally found a job at Prince’s Corner, a readymade shop at Pondy Bazaar. For 250 rupees a month. 10 hours a day. He met Rajakumari there.

Besides Rajakumari, Jayakumar, Kaja, Ratnasingam and Venkatsan too worked at Prince’s Corner. With the exception of Rajakumari, the rest of them worked there only because of straitened circumstances. Ratnasingam came from Sri Lanka to write scripts for Tamil films. Jayakumar didn’t get a job at the fire service. Kaja couldn’t become a corporation worker. Venkatesan ought to have cleared at least 1000 rupees at Ashok Leyland, but here he was sticking it out at Prince’s Corner for a mere 300 rupees.

Rajakumari alone sparkled, as if she was born to be the sales clerk at the readymade shop. She was a bit short. Only around 4 feet, 7 inches. Thick curly hair. But extremely fair. Attractive face. If only she had a few more inches, she would have been a great beauty.

Everyone took to him just within a few days of joining work. But Ratnasingam alone didn’t think much of him. He thought he was a complete idiot. He believed that only intelligent beings could write Tamil film scripts. Anyway, those days passed delightfully. He wrote poems in Natesan Park on Sundays. He ate three square meals a day. Late at night, he strolled up and down Pondy Bazaar, where trees seemed to lock hands. He saw European films at foreign consulates. He went to literary meetings. He made a lot of friends. His poems got published. One of his poems on trees, particularly, caught everyone’s interest.

In the dead of night
Trees have a singular beauty
(much like wives)
The banyan looks to the ground
The palm stretches upwards
Bending low, the coconut
Is ready to sieve the moon.
Eyes bargain with sleep
Trees
Refuse to fade in the dark
Revealing great beauty
In a deep shade of green.
Any time, any place,
Trees have a singular beauty
In the dead of night – much like wives.

But in Prince’s Corner, Rajakumari included, no one liked the poem. ‘You call this a poem?’ she laughed, squeezing her lips.

Then suddenly one day Rjajkumari decided to love him. That afternoon, he who usually ate at a hotel, was shepherded to Jeeva Park by her. There, after plying him with tamarind rice and curd rice brought specially from home, she declared her love for him. He was taken aback. That someone could actually bring herself to love him. But he gathered himself together quickly. A strange arrogance engulfed him, and in a voice laced with indifference and bluster he said, ‘Look here, Rajakumari, your world and mine are far apart. You’re an ordinary girl. I’m a poet. I’m not at all keen on love. It’s only because of fate I’ve sunk so low, working in a cloth shop and all, but my goals in life are lofty. This thing called love will only be a burden while I’m leaping across to reach the peaks. Please forgive me.’

Rajakumari didn’t believe him and smiled sarcastically.

He continued, ‘Besides there is another problem in loving you. You sweat too much. The stench of your sweat stinks like garlic. I’ll give you some advice: Before you fall in love with someone, eat some medicine to get rid of your odour.’

Rajakumari’s face fell.

From the very next day bad luck descended on him. The old owner of Prince’s Corner started on his case. If he was late by even five minutes, he was scolded; if customers went away without buying anything he was taken to task; if he so much as relaxed for a bit after lunch he was abused; if he stood up he was shouted at; if he sat down he was cursed. It was all Rajakumari’s doing said the others (she wielded a lot of clout with the owner). Yesterday, a customer who bought clothes worth 305 rupees was accidentally given a discount of 5 rupees – this was considered a grave mistake. An altercation took place between the old man and him, and he was sacked! Everything was over in just five minutes.

Losing the job was a severe blow. What was worse was the way he lost it. It was Rajakumari’s excessive love for him that had made her so maliciously spiteful. Till the previous week it never occurred to him that life would deal with him so heartlessly. Today everything has gone beyond the limits, everything has completely dried up.

People have started to gather on the beach to enjoy the breeze. Boats have come ashore and the fishermen have left. Young lovers huddle in the dark. Stars flower in the sky.

He is seated watching the sea dazedly. He consoles himself that he, who is staring the jaws of death, has nothing much to think about. From the morning he made preparations to get into a suicidal frame of mind. He didn’t speak with anyone for fear of shattering his resolute mind. Didn’t smile at anyone either. Didn’t even see his face in the mirror. Even if his face is not very interesting, he wonders how it will look now in the mirror. The human face does not reveal everything. It can heavily pat on, like cosmetic powder, straightforward emotions such as desire, love, affection and sorrow. But it cannot fathom deep-seated turmoil and perversities. Just as the pollen waits to be disturbed by the bee, the doors of the inner mind too, wait to be slammed by the hands of death. The naivety of human life cannot be captured by the human face.

Facial expressions are not important to a person who is going to die. It’s only the mind that matters. Anyhow death is a good thing. There is no big difference between dying with a reason and dying without one. Why, there is no big difference between even life and death. The proof of life itself is death.

Lying on his back he looks at the sky. The moon, the stars, his youth, his mother, his poems, all toss around in his mind, only to come back to Rajakumari in the end. Coming to think of it Rajakumari is really a fine person. Perhaps I ought to have accepted her love. She certainly possesses the allure of a lover. Besides, I can see in her eyes the pure ardour of one possessed by love. What an idiot, I didn’t understand that universal love and romantic love spring from the same source. What right do I have to mock her and her body odour? The beauty of youth sparkles only through the body. And the dignity of its mind too. Truly, Rajakumari is an exceptional girl. While the waves gently stroke his feet, he tightly squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again. The laughing stars in the open sky delight him. He wants to weep loudly; he shuts his eyes again.

After a while he feels as if someone is walking towards him. He can hear the gentle footfalls in the wet sand. He senses someone standing very close to him. He opens his eyes gently. It looks as if it is Rajakumari. He opens his eyes wide in astonishment. There is no doubt, Rajakumari it is. He gets up with a start. She looks beautiful in the moonlight. He smiles at her. Moving aside a little, he beckons her to sit near him. She sits down.

He: How come you’re here?
Rajakumari: It was so humid. I just came.
He: Me too.
Ra Ku: It’s summer.
He: Yes.
Ra Ku: Are you also feeling sweaty?
He: I understand. Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.
Ra Ku: It’s ok. You only said the truth, after all.
He: I’m really upset.
Ra Ku: Well, you will feel like that.
He: I’m not such a lout as you believe.
Ra Ku: I know.
He: You won’t believe me, I’ve actually come here today to commit suicide.
Ra Ku: Oh! Is that so?
He: Don’t make fun of me. My heart is crushed already.
Ra Ku: You’re an idiot.
He: Truly.
Ra Ku: You’re a coward, a real scoundrel.
He: That’s so true.

They remain silent.

Ra Ku: Have you ever loved anyone in your life?
He: No.
Ra Ku: Why, is it a crime to love someone?
He: No.
Ra Ku: Is it a crime for a girlfriend to sweat?
He: Not at all.
Ra Ku: Confess. You love me, don’t you?
He: Yes. I admit. I love you.
Ra Ku: Then why all this drama?
He: That’s what I too can’t understand.
Ra Ku: What can’t you understand?
He: Perhaps I don’t like the fact that I love you.
Ra Ku: What nonsense are you talking?
He: Nothing. You’re an inexperienced girl. You don’t know anything about life. That emotion called love happens only by chance.
Ra Ku: So?
He: There’s no chance for love now. At least, as far as I’m concerned, not even the smallest bit. I only wish to die now. I’ve even written my last poem.
Ra Ku: Don’t talk rubbish.
He: Listen to his poem now. You might understand that I’m not spouting rubbish.

He begins to recite his poem.

Dawn in the Month of Markazhi

From somewhere wafts in a soft bhakti song
The world trickles down, unchanging
Like a known face
Life dissolves and torments me
Like forms floating around in an artist’s mind
They are spread all over my table – faces, expressions, voices
Whose face shall I see?
Whose voice should I hear?
Where do I begin?
Nests from
The withered leaves of dreams
Don’t always take shape –
The heart
Like the sorrowful spring
That is drying up
Oozes out
The last drops with deep bitterness
In the torpid mid-afternoon sun
Entwined in the still aerial roots
Appears ancient life
I can feel the wings of desire
As also the way of love
In this world full of shadows
A spot of light
Like a child’s first smile
Fills me,
No,
Mocks me.
The world trickles down, unchanging.

He smiles at her bitterly.

Ra Ku: I’m telling you again, you’re talking utter rot. Pure unadulterated rot. There’s no hope really for those who can make fun of a child’s first smile.
He: Please forgive me. I just can’t understand anything. I’ll really be put through a lot of inconvenience by loving you.
Ra Ku: What inconvenience?
He: You don’t know my mother. At your age she was already a widow with five children. She’s an angry woman. Poor thing. She has a lot of hopes for me. I’m everything to her. Just looking at her bare forehead day in and day out has made me lose all faith in love, affection and attachment. Listen to me without frowning. Poverty dries up everything. There’s nothing beyond basic needs for men. Their inner core is only full of needs. If you observe closely, you will know. Men are just bundles of needs… Even so, you’re an extraordinary girl. You don’t expect anything much from life or men. You have a lot of love to give and share with people. You’ve a lot of affection. But I, I’ve nothing to give. My life is loveless. Filled with bitterness and trouble. I’m not interested in the difference between truth and falsehood. I understood all this long ago. I’m not even aware if my sorrow is real or false. If you come with me your life will be spoilt. Believe me, selling gowns in Prince’s Corner is infinitely preferable.
Ra Ku: You talk too much rubbish.
He: It’s true. But I can’t bear to love you.
Ra Ku: You’re a totally crazy.
He: We’re all crazy.
Ra Ku: I really hate you.
He: That’s my humble request too.
Ra Ku: What’s going to happen if you die?
He: Why, nothing.
Ra Ku: Then what are you waiting for? Go and die then. There, the sea is waiting for you.

They fall silent once again.

He: It’s really dark.
Ra Ku: Yes.
He: The stars are twinkling beautifully.
Ra Ku: Yes.
He: The full moon is shining brightly.
Ra Ku: Yes.
He: The waves are becoming big. They’re roaring.
Ra Ku: Yes.
He: The cool breeze is delightful.
Ra Ku: Yes.
He: You’re face is beautiful in the moonlight.
Ra Ku: …
He: When your curly hair teased by the wind falls on your face, you look utterly beautiful.
Ra Ku: …
He: I can see the sea in your eyes.
Ra Ku: …
He: I like your long fingers.
Ra Ku: …
He: This is my first time. How warm your touch is.
Ra Ku: …
He: Can I pinch your palm?
Ra Ku: …
He: I want to take you on my lap and stroke you fondly.
Ra Ku: …
He: With your permission, I’d like to kiss your tiny lips.
Ra Ku: …

They hold each other tight. Time stands still. After a while they exchange sweet nothings in whispers.

Ra Ku: Can I ask you something?
He: Mm…
Ra Ku: Do you like me?
He: Mm…
Ra Ku: Do you like me a lot?
He: Mmm…
Ra Ku: What about my body odour? You don’t mind that?
He: Mm…
Ra Ku: Am I beautiful?
He: Mm…
Ra Ku: Do you love me?
He: Mm…
Ra Ku: Do you really love me?
He: Mm…
Ra Ku: You’re not confused?
He: Mm… hmm…
Ra Ku: Truly?
He: Truly.
Ra Ku: See, I knew that it was true love.
He: You’re a clever girl, aren’t you?
Ra Ku: Enough. Don’t choke me. How many more time times will you kiss me?
He: This is the last one.
Ra Ku: Chee! Lecherous fellow! You love me so much and how you playacted.

They both burst into a laugh.

Ra Ku: Ok, shall we start? It’s getting late.
He: Mm…
Ra Ku: Ok, give me your hand.

They stroll towards the road.

He: When will I see you again?
Ra Ku: Don’t know.
He: Tomorrow?
Ra Ku: No.
He: Next Sunday?
Ra Ku: Mm…

The road is empty. Just two or three people at the bus stop. Just as they cross the road, the bus arrives, as if they have ordered it
to.

They fold themselves into a corner in the empty bus. ‘Two Pondy Bazaar,’ he asks the conductor, signalling with two fingers. The conductor looks at him strangely, tears out but one ticket and gives it to him. He turns towards Rajakumari to say something. But she, who was sitting near the window, has suddenly disappeared.

The bus, which is hurtling along at breakneck speed, falls into a pit and shudders. It then picks back the usual speed.

(Translated from the Tamil by Subashree Krishnaswamy.)