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Moon spent the entire afternoon lazing around on the verandah, gazing at the cloud formations and making the occasional effort to read Discovery of India. It was futile.
BBC News did not offer much new information, and there was no mention of the horrific attacks in R.K.Puram. All India Radio made it appear as though the government was firmly in control of the situation. There was also mention of a few attacks on North Indians in Madras, Coimbatore, Hyderabad and Bangalore. Nothing on the revenge attacks in Delhi.
He had upama for lunch and felt a little full. It was four hours since he left Ganapathy’s house, and decided to go for a small walk on the campus grounds to digest his lunch. It would also help him exercise his limbs, as he wanted to flee the country as soon as possible.
Moon had been told that the entire staff quarters was surrounding by a brick wall, with only two entrances, one in the front and the other in the back, both were closed and the police were keeping a watch. Although there were a few North Indian families still living on campus, the agitators did not bother and neither did the army.
I wonder how Professor Subbaiah manages to sneak in every night.
As he approached the common playground, he saw a couple of children frolicking in the sun, oblivious to the turmoil outside. They seemed happy that their school had been closed indefinitely, and were shouting at the top of their voices, chasing each other with imaginary swords.
A group of youngsters were playing hockey on a small patch of grass and three young girls with cheap plastic dolls in their hands were chatting underneath a tree.
He sat down on a wooden bench in the shade and watched the hockey match in progress. Most of the kids were barefooted and only a few had proper hockey clubs, the rest were holding out stubs of palm leaves, but that hardly dampened their spirits and they were having the time of their lives.
Children are so innocent. They do not burden their heads with trivial matters like caste, religion or language. It is only after they grow up that they start differentiating their friends.
Moon suddenly missed his childhood in Masan, playing jegichagi with friends. Actually, the day his parents died in the demonstration against the government, he had been busy playing with his friends on the school grounds. Just like these kids here, he had not concerned himself with the agitation against President Rhee and the violence that followed.
His mind wandered to his childhood days and his sudden relocation to Seoul at the tender age of fifteen. His mother’s brother had been kind enough to provide him shelter, but was too poor to pay for his education. Moon had to do odd jobs and saved enough money to complete his education. Luckily he got a scholarship to study at Seoul National University, which finally brought him for a year to Madras.
Now with the agitation getting stronger, he was afraid he would have to return back to Seoul midway.
There were only two things that worried him now. Getting back to Seoul at the earliest, and transferring to another foreign university for his exchange program.
He was slowly recovering from the injuries suffered during the stampede, but his cast could only be taken off after he returns home.
This time I will try to go to a university closer home, maybe China or Japan. At least our culture, food and climate are the same. My mistake, I should have made friends with the Chinese and Japanese here, they seemed cordial and would have guided me. It is always a mistake to carry over the historical legacy of mistrust when we are dealing with people.
He was still lost in thoughts, when a child’s voice called out for his attention.
‘Uncle, are you from China?’
A small girl in ponytails was staring at him.
He smiled and without realizing why, he lied, ‘No, I am from Nagaland.’
‘Is it close to Japan?’ she asked.
‘No, it is in India. I am also Indian like you.’
‘You cannot be. You look so different from us. My mother said that if you lie you go to narak.’
‘Where are you from?’ he asked, realizing that she had fair skin.
‘I am from Punjab, my papa is a professor here.’
‘You look different from Tamilians, but you are also Indian,’ he said.
‘That is true,’ she said and ran away.
‘It is not just kids; even older people don't consider people from Nagaland as Indians because of their Mongolian features. I wonder how many years it will take from Indians to recognize them as their own countrymen?’ he thought, remembering the stories of discrimination that his friend Andy had narrated.
He got up from the bench and decided to walk for a while before going back home. His body needed more exercise, and the faster he recovered, the greater his chances of returning to Corea.
A brisk thirty minutes walk later he was back on the patio, drying his sweat.
Seeing him, Ganapathy came out of his house. ‘So you decided to get some fresh air?’ he shouted out.
‘Yes, I wanted some exercise so my body can recover. I hope to return to Corea as soon as possible.’
‘Worried, eh? You should be. I just got a call from Damodaran. The situation is getting worse. More South Indian colonies have been attacked. He estimates that around 200 people have been killed, but there is no curfew, mobs are free to roam around with swords and knives. A few South Indian temples have also been destroyed.’ Ganapathy paced himself towards Moon.
‘How can the government allow it?’
‘That is their way of controlling the agitation here. They do not realize that it could boomerang once the information becomes public. It is bound to slip out, many people have telephones here.’
‘What about the situation in Madras? We have no information, although we are in the center of the city.’
‘A few friends called me and said that the violence is continuing. Many government buildings have been burnt, and buses are off the roads, but luckily the train service is still running. Fourteen people have immolated themselves in front of Fort St. George.’
‘Sir, I can never understand this concept of self-immolation as a form of protest.’
‘I thought it is very common in East Asia. Buddhist monks have been immolating themselves for centuries. It is only recently that the western media has caught on to this concept, after Buddhist monk Thich Quang Duc immolating himself in protest of the Vietnamese Ngo Dinh Diem regime in 1963.’
‘It is not common in Corea. No one immolated themselves during the April Revolution.’
‘I thought Buddhism was a prominent religion in your country. Wait...I get it, self-immolation is tolerated by some elements of Mahayana Buddhism and Hinduism, but Corea must be having Theravada Buddhists.’
‘No, we also follow Mahayana Buddhism. That is why I am surprised.’
‘Well, then maybe it has something to do with the intensity of political repression in the countries where the victims don't mind immolating themselves. Like so many things in the world, this also cannot be easily explained,’ Ganapathy said. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to remind you to get Subbaiah over to our house for dinner tonight.’
‘I will sir, but I have no idea when he will turn up. Sometimes he comes with guests.’
‘That is fine we will have our dinner on schedule. Vijaylaxmi can heat up the food for Subbaiah. She will also pack some extra food for his guests, if need be.’