After my brother working in the railways was transferred from Tamil Nadu to Ernakulam I was free from domestic worries and could go on in search of Rajan. My brother and his wife had no children; my children were theirs, then and now.
I continued my search with the help of Mr. M. S. Master. The Master family was a well-known communist family in Trichur district. Mr. M. S. Master was the retired headmaster of Cherpu high school and a great help to all the locals. He knew Mr. Achutha Menon well. He came to my home for the next trip to Trivandrum to meet Mr. Menon. My sister Kochammini had great faith in Mr. Menon and she always expressed it through her words and deeds. She hoped that we would get some information about Rajan, especially because Mr. M. S. Master was with us. When we left for Trivandrum, she handed a small packet to him, saying, ‘This is an offering from the Hanuman temple at Ernakulam. Give it to Rajan. Tell him his aunt has given it for him.’
We met Mr. Achutha Menon at Cantonment House, the official residence of the Chief Minister at Trivandrum. He knew the purpose our visit, and promised to do whatever possible. Then he told us of the problems he was facing as Chief Minister and about the pressure tactics of the Central Government. He looked unhappy. He asked us to come again next week. Before we left I humbly requested him to get the facts about Rajan from Mr. Jayaram Padikkal. I was sure that he alone would be able to give the details.
‘No, I will not enquire with Mr. Padikkal. I will speak to the Inspector General, Mr. Rajan,’ was his reply. Everyone in Kerala knew that Inspector General Rajan’s role in the Emergency playground was superficial. Mr. Jayaram Padikkal was the one abusing the state system of law and order in those days. Mr. Menon’s reply irritated me. I could not think of a Chief Minister like Mr. Menon saying that he could not get some information from a lower officer. It was not distaste but pain that I felt within me.
The next week we went to Trivandrum again. We knew that Mr. C. Janardanan, Member of Parliament, was staying at the Trivandrum Hotel, near the secretariat. This information made us happy, because Mr. Janardanan was a close friend of mine and like others, I had faith in him.
During the election campaign in 1951 Mr. Jawaharlal Nehru, then Prime Minister of India, had come to Trichur and addressed a public meeting at Thekkikadu Maidan. The next day, Mr. Janardanan addressed the public in a meeting held at the same ground, as a reply to Mr. Nehru. That speech was electrifying to many, including me. I remember it even now. After that I had gone eagerly to hear Mr. Janardanan speak. But his beautiful voice got distorted due to police atrocities committed on him. Few communists in Trichur district suffered from police atrocities like him. Sadly, his life was shortened by many years as a result.
When we met Mr. Janardanan and informed him about Rajan he told us that he was unaware of the case. He asked us to wait for a while and went to meet Mr. Achutha Menon. He came back around 1pm, and gave us a telephone number through which to contact Mr. Menon the next day.
I called up Mr. Menon with great expectation, but he repeated his old stand: ‘I will not speak to Mr. Jayaram Padikkal.’
I requested him to enquire with Mr. Karunakaran.
‘I will not speak to him either. He will simply bluff,’ was his reply. Then he asked Mr. M. S. Master to bring Mr. K. K. Master together to Trivandrum. Our next trip to Trivandrum was with Mr. K. K. Master.
Days were passing by. Winter gave way to monsoon. The situation at home was getting worse. My wife had become a mental wreck. My sister and her husband, Mr. Achutha Varier, took care of her. Achutha put his hands on my shoulders and anticipating our meeting with Mr. Achutha Menon said, ‘Eachara, you have to face him; he will take it.’ There were tears in his eyes.
We were silent on the train. His voice reverberated in my ears with the echoing sound of the wheels. It was months since I began this journey in search of my son. I became weak inside. My thoughts started going wild, but I still had hope in Mr. Menon. That face in the darkness of the night, with long hair and beard, was still clear in my mind. During those days of police atrocities in our village, the flame of mercy in those eyes had given a lot of strength to struggling and suffering people. I dreamed that the little fire in his heart kindled by the poorest of the poor in Kerala would never go out, despite all sorts of political arrangements.
We reached Trivandrum in the early morning and called Mr. Menon on the telephone with the number that Mr. Janardanan gave us. Nobody attended to the phone for a while. I waited for Mr. Menon’s voice. Finally he came on line, and Mr. M. S. Master talked to him.
‘As you asked us last time we have brought Mr. K. K. Master along with us. Shall we come to you now?’ he asked.
‘I don’t want to see K. K. or any damn ****!’ was his reply. I never learnt what words he used exactly.
He got angry. ‘Do you expect me to wander around the police stations in the state in search of your son?’ was his further response.
I felt angered and wanted to cry, but without fumbling I took the phone and said, ‘I never understood that a Chief Minister had only such limited power as to be unable to find out something from the bureaucrats lower down the order. If I had known this I would never have come to you.’
We returned from Trivandrum with pain. I found the change that power had brought into the character of a communist leader strange and incomprehensible. The Mr. Menon who had moved around the state to build up the Communist Party was dear to me. Nobody today would be able to fathom the faith our generation entrusted in people like him. Mr. Menon was in the hearts of ordinary ignorant people by having strayed into their huts at night, with shabby dress and a tired face. These poor people protected him from police atrocities at risk to their own lives.
When I told all that had happened to a friend from the Communist Party, he replied sarcastically that if Mr. Menon had left the chair of the Chief Minister he would not have reached home safely. ‘The poor people of Kerala took him safely home for many years,’ I replied to him.
The Mr. Achutha Menon I was familiar with would have had no need for someone who would only misinform him. Yet now we all felt sorry for that bold communist, virtually a servant of a lesser person like Mr. Karunakaran. Mr. Menon’s response to Rajan’s case pained me much more than that of Mr. Karunakaran. I expected nothing more from Mr. Karunakaran, but never expected anything like it from Mr. Achutha Menon, not even in my wildest dreams.
I know this note on Mr. Menon will pain a lot of people, but the pain I underwent was much more. Please excuse me, and understand that I am just trying to do justice to history.
