Travel Thy Mind

Note: Meditation practitioners use multiple methods to attain peace. There are some who progress to the level where they can move from dimension to dimension. Others meditate to attain peace. Personally, I have experienced the beauty of this travel. While the story is a figment of imagination, the travel isn’t.

                                                                

                                        

Daniel woke up rubbing his eye; the clock showed 5.00 a.m. He heard raindrops pattering the glass window. While his conscience prodded him to wake up and go about his day, his body pulled him towards the warm blanket. But his mind voice kept reminding him of what Swamiji had said – the best time to practice this is at early morning hours.

Six weeks ago, Daniel had travelled to India. Yeap, he looked out of place as he negotiated his way out of the Meenambakkam Airport. He was sure people thought he was a Nepali. Daniel Chang was a Malaysian of Chinese descendance. An avid traveller, he had travelled to many countries across the world including the Pacific island nations. His memorable trip was to the Cooks Islands, at that time known as the last paradise on earth. With the same vigour that took him across the Pacific, he had travelled to India despite having heard of many stories from past travellers.

Swamiji had said that one should take cold shower head to toe before doing anything else. Daniel stood looking at his shower. Cold shower? He shivered even thinking about it. The dip he took in the river near swamiji’s ashram was still fresh in his mind. It was winter in India when he decided to enjoy low fares to Chennai.

Chennai itself was not very cold, only rainfall was high. But as he travelled to Kodaikanal, a hill station, the temperature started falling and boy, it was really cold! Swamiji’s ashram was in Kodaikanal and there was a small stream that ran adjacent to the ashram; that was where Swamiji had asked him to take a dip in the cold water at 5 a.m. on one historic morning. Historic because that was the first time Daniel took cold shower in his life.

Telling himself that the water could not be colder than the water in the stream, Daniel turned on the shower. Icy droplets hit his body like pin pricks. But only for a few seconds, then his body became accustomed to the temperature. Daniel washed himself up as Swamiji had taught. One needs to be pure in body and mind before doing this meditation, Swamiji had said.

Daniel was a banker by profession. He had worked hard to rise to where he had reached – Regional Director of a foreign bank which had global presence. Hard work aside, he had also used lobbying tactics to rise to that level which was not easy for an Asian. Some banks went by merits, others by many other criteria except merits. Daniel’s employers belonged to the latter. So, Daniel, too had played the corporate game, to get where he wanted to reach.

But things didn’t go quite as he had anticipated. Regional Director was a role that needed mobility. He travelled quite a bit that he used to joke that he spent more time in the air than on the ground. Then again, that was a choice that he had made. The frequent travel added with irregular meals and uncertain lifestyle had taken a toll on his body and mind. When one reaches heights by unethical means, the mind voice would rarely remain silent as we humans were designed like that. The mind or rather the conscience would keep prodding till we corrected our wrong doings. For those who succeeded in silencing the mind voice, the body would take the hit – enter illnesses, sometimes unexplained diseases. Daniel experienced exactly that. He developed pain on the right side of his abdomen. Initially doctors thought it was appendicitis, as there was a slight swelling above his pant’s line. A set of medical tests and a couple of nights’ stay at the hospital isolated appendicitis or any digestive system illnesses as the cause.

Daniel was in intense pain while waiting for a flight back to Kuala Lumpur when he met a lady clad in all white. Her head was shaved and she carried a white colour bag. She had been sitting a few rows away, watching him. At one point when Daniel had doubled in pain, she stood up and walked to his place. She sat beside him and placed her left hand on his shoulder. Daniel was startled.

`I know you are in pain,’ she said in a soothing voice. Daniel sat up and looked at her, trying to smile but the pain was intense. He sat as he clutched his right abdomen. Other fellow passengers in the waiting hall started noticing them.

`Not all pains are physical’, she said, `our illnesses are caused by non-physical reasons.’

That was what Swamiji said – non-physical connection. The entire universe is connected non-physically. Anyone who is not on that platform is bound to suffer maladies, he had said.

Daniel dried himself and attired in fully white clothes – kurta top and pyjama pants. He took a thick blanket and set it on the floor. Then he sat on the blanket in lotus position, holding both hands together in a specific mudra and closed his eyes.

Upon flying back with pain in right abdomen, Daniel got himself admitted into a medical centre. Doctors ran all tests possible and returned the same verdict – there was nothing wrong with him physically. They said he was probably too fatigued from his travel that the body was signalling him to rest.

Daniel reached home, lied down on his bed. He dozed off thinking of what the Swamiji and the woman in white had said. The entire universe is connected non-physically; in other words, the entire make up of existence is pure energy. And he wasn’t connected to that energy. Probably, that was the cause of his malady.

The lady in white had given him Swamiji’s contact and that was how he landed in India, in that wet month of December. The four weeks spent at the ashram taught him that the energy is pure and can only be tainted by human actions. Any action against dharma would taint the energy and its purity. Daniel did not reach the height of his career by just working hard. He joined the corporate game of back-stabbing, plotting the fall of others and what not. The energy didn’t like it and told him its displeasure in its own way. It also brought him towards a new path of meditation.

When Daniel started the meditation at Swamiji’s ashram, he had trouble focusing. The last two weeks had seen him progress on focusing that he had begun to look forward to the meditation sessions.

Daniel saw the blue light. It flickered, changed hues but remained blue. The beauty of the light kept his attention transfixed. It felt as if the light was taking him somewhere. It was compelling him to follow. He felt as if he was moving into a different dimension, a totally different realm. His body felt very light. He was floating along in the blue light which was neither bright nor dim. It felt so good. Then the unexpected happened. It came in a flicker – a flicker of purple. He started searching for the flicker, eyes still closed, mind travelled far away, in pursuit of purple.

Swamiji has told him that it begins from red, progresses to blue then purple. Purple means another two more progression to attain the light. But Daniel had been keen to pursue the colour lights which took him to multiple realms.

The flicker of purple came again, this time he saw a splash of multiple beads of purple, dancing before his eyes. Dance of the cosmos, mesmerizing. He followed the purple light. It seems to take him very far away. Daniel no longer felt his body. He was floating with the purple light and it was taking him far away very fast.

The feel was very refreshing. Nothing mattered, only light around him. Daniel was now surrounded by the purple light. But some tinge of orange seemed to surround the purple. His mind felt relaxed like never before. Bliss. Quiet. Peace. He kept following, engulfed in the light, dancing with it. Utter bliss.

`I found him like this,’ she told the police office, sobbing and wiping her tears.

`When did you find him?’ the officer asked.

`About half hour ago. Tried waking him, but he seemed to have frozen.’

`You touched him?’

`Yes, officer, but he felt warm.’

`Please do not touch anything, miss,’ the officer sounded stern. `This could be a crime scene.’

`But who committed any crime?’ she asked.

The officer did not answer but gave her a stern look. Then he radioed to his base `Male, Chinese in mid-thirties, found in seated position. Need doctor to reconfirm death. Seems no foul play.’

 

When ghost calls...

It was 4.30 a.m. The sky was dark outside. It has been raining the night before, but seemed to have stopped now. Pachiama looked out of her window. Everything was still, nothing moved, not even the chicken in the coop. The estate was shrouded in darkness. Would there be work today, she wondered as she tied up her hair into a bun.

Pachiamma and her family worked as rubber tappers in that estate, owned by a British plantation company. The year was 1977. It has been almost eight years since her family moved into the workers' quarters provided by the management. Her daughters were in their early teen then. They have grown up to be beautiful maidens ever since. Pachiamma had two daughters and a son. Her daughters stopped schooling at the age of twelve. Her son was still studying in school. Among the rural Indian community daughters were not given priority for education. Pachiamma was not given such opportunity, so she did not see why her daughters should be. Now, both girls help her tap rubber in the estate. 

Pachiamma's husband left her for another woman after he son was born. The boy had bad horoscope, the elders in her family had said. Bad horoscope or not she had to raise her children on her own. Finances have been difficult but somehow she had managed to raise them and with her daughters helping her tap rubber, money is a little easier now.

In estates, the norm is to be paid twice a month. And the estate folks use their income to purchase essentials like sugar, rice and other items from the estate grocery store located about a kilometre from the workers quarters. A small narrow lane lined by rubber trees led towards the grocery store. The store was owned by a relative of the estate manager. Prices of items at the store were expensive but without any alternatives, the estate workers had to purchase their necessities from there. There were rumours that the grocery store owner was into black magic and stuff, that if anyone tried to complain about prices of essentials, he apparently would voodoo them that they would die vomitting blood. So, no one complained but went about life purchasing their necessities from that store. Most were on credit, purchases recorded in a small book and paid for upon receipt of salary. Pachiamma used to argue with the grocery store owner; she felt he was over charging the estate folks but she did not believe in voodoo either.

It has been thirty minutes since Pachiamma woke up. She had lit the firewood stove and cooked some plain rice to be taken with them when they go rubber tapping in another half hour. Roll call was at 5.30 a.m. after which the mandore would assign the lot of trees to be tapped by each tapper. The trees were not tapped daily. Rubber trees are tapped on alternate days to allow the tree to rest a day to produce more latex. 

She woke her elder daughter, Lalitha, up. Her son would sleep till 6.30 a.m. before he leaves for school at 7. Mother and daughter started packing their stuff for work, as well as for Pachiamma's second daughter, Latha. Latha was still sleeping. Usually, she would be up before Lalitha, but strangely Latha was still in bed. 

Having ensured everything was packed well, Pachiamma went to wake Latha up. The girl was sleeping with her back facing outward. The family sleeps on a wooden platform, called `vaangu'. There were no mattresses, only a piece of cloth to cover the wood and one pillow each. They used old sarees as blankets. 

Pachiamma called out to Latha, urging her to wake up. Latha was not moving. Strange, thought, Pachiamma, but as the alarm on her old clock went off at 5.30 a.m. Pachiamma hurried to the kitchen to put out the firewood stove and place all her things on one of the three bicycles the family owned. She asked Lalitha to wake Latha up.

The wail was like no other, a blood curling scream from Lalita filled the stillness of the estate in that early morning hour. Pachiamma froze then ran to the room. Lalita was crouched on the floor holding her head, sobbing, screaming. Pachiamma reached out to touch her daughter when she saw the horrifying sight. Blood had oozed out of Latha's nose, dried and the young girl was lifeless! Her eyes were staring into space. The mother froze. Then, darkness...

There were voices around her. Someone was wiping her face. She smelled incense stick, she heard someone sobbing. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The women of the estate were in her house. She tried to get up, someone propped her up against the wall. Lalitha was seated, leaning against the wall on the far side. Her eyes red and swollen from crying. Latha's body was placed in the middle of the house, with a lamp at her head and incense sticks were lit. The smell wafted in the air. 

It took a good moment for Pachiamma to realise there was a death in her home and her second daughter was no more. Women in groups were huddled and whispering. Her mandore was at the door, talking to a policeman. He bade the policeman goodby and came to Pachiamma. 

`When do you want to complete the rites?' he asked. Pachiamma looked at him blankly. They were Hindus. According to tradition, the dead would be cremated before sun down. It was already 10 a.m. From the looks of it, no one had gone to work that day. The body had to be bathed, decked in her best clothes, complete all rites and cremated by sun down. The rites have to be completed by her son, as the sole male in the family. Thirty days of mourning and life would never be the same again.

Pachiamma did not answer. The mandore stood up and started giving instructions to all around. Pachiamma went through the last rites in a daze. She still could not accept that her second child was no more. Latha was born at seven months, before full term. Thus Pachiamma had special affections for her and Latha was the prettier one between the two. The bubbly and lively girl could carry more latex than her sister when they went rubber tapping. 

In the beginning, both girls assisted Pachiamma, but since the previous week both were assigned with their own lot of rubber trees to tap. She has been worried, refused to let them work alone, but the mandore had convinced her that they were very experienced and would get more salary if they worked on their own. She had agreed and now she was no longer sure whether her decision was right. What happened that Latha died bleeding in her nose?

The menfolk returned after the cremation, washed the house. A neighbour brought some food. With her came a very old woman, leaning on a stick. She had a big red bindhi on her forehead. 

The old woman sat beside Pachiamma and held her hands. `Amma, do not cry,' she said. `Last week there was a similar death at a nearby estate.' 

`That was also a very young girl. She died the same way, bleeding in her nose.'

Pachiamma lifted her face and looked at the old woman. She didn't hear of any death the week before.

`Young girls who go rubber tapping are often followed by ghosts,' the old woman said. `They would feel as if someone is walking behind them, or may call out their name.'

Now, Pachiamma remembered. Yes, Latha did say she heard someone call her name on the second day she went rubber tapping on her own. But when she turned, there wasn't anyone. Pachiamma had rubbished that girl. It could have been the mandore, she told her daughter. 

The old woman continued. `When something like that happens, the girls should stop immediately, stand still and make a circle around them using the big toe of the right foot.' Then, apparently, the ghost would go away and not bother the person again. Pachiamma remembered her late grandmother saying this but at that age she had laughed at such superstitions. Her own grandmother had said that when people died bleeding in their noses, it meant that during the night, the ghost had come and taken the soul away.

This old woman also seemed to say the same thing.  In estates, superstitions were in abundance and people like Pachiamma chose not to believe them because she had a life to live and children to raise. Superstitions could derail the confidence of a person, bring on fear and Pachiamma did not have any room for fear as she has to work to support her family.  It sort of made sense to Pachiamma. The estate folks had shared many stories about the unseen which Pachiamma would usually ignore. The grocery store owner's voodoo for one. And she was his enemy. Looks like she had ignored too much and paid a heavy price. Perhaps, like her grandmother did, she should have alerted her daughters to stand still and make a circle around them using the big toe of the right foot when they felt some presence around them. Perhaps, Latha would still be alive. Perhaps...

Note: In rubber estates, superstitions were strife those days. Utilities were limited, facilities were unheard of and life had to be lived as it came. To overcome life issues, the estate folks had practiced some believes which today, we call `superstitions'. This story is just a work of creative imagination based on stories heard from my late grandfather who was an estate mandore during his younger days and had not intended to adversely comment on any group of people.

Stranded Passengers of MH653

This recollection is only written as a blog post on paranormal activity, which is part and parcel of everyday Malaysian life. 

Flight MH653, with 93 passengers and 7 crew members was enroute from Penang to Subang airport on 4th December 1977 when the pilot, Captain G K Ganjoor radioed that while at altitude of 4,000 feet over Batu Arang, Selangor, the plane has been hijacked. No further details were known while all preparations were made to securely land the plane at Subang however, the Captain radioed again to say that the flight has now been re-directed to Singapore, presumably by the hijacker. Flight MH653 never reached Singapore. While flying over Tanjung Kupang in Johor it reportedly hit the ground at vertical angle and not only there were no survivors but no bodies were collected intact.

Among the notable people on board were Malaysian Agricultural Minister, Dato’ Ali Haji Ahmad; Public Works Department Head, Dato’ Mahfuz Khalid; and Cuban Ambassador to Japan, Mario Garcia plus a notable professor from University Sains Malaysia - Prof Puvan. 

1977 was still in early industrialization period in Malaysia and communication was comparatively primitive in comparison to these times. As part of the body and plane parts recovery process, Telecom Department workers were deployed to remove the human flesh stuck to telecom lines. Some who returned recounted grim stories of how they had to use their hands to remove those flesh.

But nothing beats the two tales that were recounted by firstly, an oil tanker driver and secondly, a taxi driver. It is noteworthy here that the remains of the departed were buried at Kebun Bunga, in Johor Bharu, some distance from the crash site.

In the first story, the driver who lived to recount the story was driving his oil tanker from some location in Pahang back to Singapore when he had to drive past Tanjung Kupang. Those days, there were almost no highways, so the best bet were trunk roads or more known as village roads. His gut feel did say that perhaps he should drive back in the morning, but since he wanted to reach home in Singapore soonest, he has driven that night itself. Around midnight he passed Tanjung Kupang and felt very relieved that nothing untoward happened. However, as soon as he passed the crash area, he saw a man flag him down. Since the crash site was way behind him, the driver stopped the tanker, wondering what help the man needed. And yeah, he needed big help. 

The tanker driver leaned out of his window and had enquired what that man wanted and why was he standing at a place out of no where at that time of the night. That man replied that he usually stood about a couple of kilometres back but no one wanted to stop, so he moved further up. The tanker driver's hair at the back of his neck started rising and he didn't quite feel good about the whole situation, however, keeping his composure he asked if the man required any help. To which the man replied that he and his friends needed a lift into town, to Kebun Bunga. `At this time of the night?' asked the tanker driver, but yet he still opened the passenger side of the tanker cabin door. The man hesitated, `I am not sure we would all fit,' he said. `Why?' asked the driver. `Because there is room for only 2 persons and there are 100 of us here.'

The tanker driver could somewhat remember speeding to his home in Singapore and bed ridden with fever. 

The second story was even scarier. It was recounted by a taxi driver. One midnight, a taxi driver was passing through Kebun Bunga close to midnight when a man stopped him. he asked for the fare till Tanjung Kupang. Since this incident happened a few months after the crash and we, Malaysians, have very short memory span, the taxi driver asked the man why he wanted to go to a place which is out of no where. `Oh,' said the man, `you see, they forgot to collect my right arm, I need to...' I believe the taxi driver didn't hang around to hear the full sentence!

These were two stories that I remember till today, told by my uncle as heard from his circle of tanker driver friends. Paranormal stories never fail to excite us, so if you have any, feel free to share in comments below.

And One Bad Turn...

The sky was getting darker, Ah Mei looked outside worriedly. Her brother, Ah Tong has not returned from the estate quarters. He went to send some supplies to the people at the estates, mostly Tamils from India.

Ah Mei and her brother were the only living members of her family, most of whom have been killed brutally or beheaded by the Japanese soldiers since they arrived in Malaya. It was the era of Japanese occupation of Malaya. Japan and China have been at war in their home countries but the Japanese brought their hatred over to Malaya. People of Chinese origin were beheaded or killed on sight. 

The Chinese community that arrived in Malaya lived in kongsi's. Their homes were built close to each other and usually each clan would have one kongsi to itself. In Malay, kongsi means share. Amenities and resources were shared among the kongsi dwellers. The dwellings in kongsis had soil floor where business activities were carried out along with cooking and washing. Living quarters or more like sleeping bunks were built using wood, high above the floor. 

Since the Japanese occupation, Japanese soldiers have ransacked the kongsi many times for supplies. They just come, grab supplies and leave, many a times killing some or most of the occupants. The kongsi dwellers lived in fear. Some of them joined the Malaya Communist Party or supported them on the sly. That made the Japanese more furious and raids were even more frequent these days. 

Ah Mei looked outside again, while stirring the porridge in the pot over wood fire. These days, they could only afford one decent meal a day as supplies were dwindling. It was becoming more and more difficult for anyone to send supplies anywhere. The Malaya Communist Party moved in jungles and made it  difficult to transport supplies. Whenever found, the MCP would confiscate the supplies. With the Japanese soldiers patrolling the towns and rubber estates, it was not easy to move around either. As she stirred the porridge, she spotted a lizard on the wall near the pot. Quickly, she shoo-ed the lizard away. Last week, one Pachiamma's child from the nearby estate died after eating some rice which had a dead lizard in it. The child was found dead in the morning, frothing from the mouth. Ah Mei made sure the lizard moved away from the porridge pot. 

Just as she was about to cover the pot, she heard people screaming, from the kongsis close to the entrance. Fear engulfed her. Oh, no! Not another raid, she prayed.

Screams were getting stronger and there were sounds of things falling. There were lots of shouts as well - in Japanese. Another raid. The kongsi dwellings did not have doors. The only way is to hide on the bunk that is built to sleep on. Quickly, Ah Mei put out the fire on the stove and climbed up the sleeping bunk. She was an attractive 16 years old Chinese girl, who till the Japanese occupation, attended a Chinese school nearby the Kongsi. These days, she stays at home while her brother Ah Tong goes out to earn money, continuing their family business of supplies. 

Sounds of heavy boots approached her door way. Ah Mei prayed that the falling night would help shield her hideout. The fire at the stove was almost out and Ah Mai didn't manage to light any lamp, so her kongsi was engulfed in darkness. On the sleeping bunk, there were some crates of canned products. Ah Mei hid behind them, hoping yet again that the soldiers would only grab the food stuff on the shelves in the kongsi and leave. 

Two Japanese soldiers entered the kongsi - one had a gun another had a long sword. In the dark, Ah Mei saw the shining blade. The one with sword had a gunny sack over his left shoulder. It seemed to contain something - something was clanking inside. They had already taken something from other kongsis. The Japanese with sword started to run his sword on the shelf - cans of food started falling off the shelves. Ah Mei was shivering in fear. The Japanese exchanged some small talks. They stood in the middle of the kongsi, clearly unhappy seen from the way they did not pick up the fallen cans. Ah Mei curled up even more, behind the crates. That proved to be a mistake. As she curved her body, her back hit against a crate and it fell. In the silence of the night, it was deafening. The Japanese with the sword shouted something and immediately the other soldier jumped up the bunk. With his legs he kicked a few crates and there he saw a young Chinese girls cowering away from him. He turned and said something to the soldier on the ground, who replied something.

Next, Ah Mei felt a hand on her hair; she was dragged down the bunk. She started crying, pleading mercy in Chinese. That seemed to anger the soldiers even more. One of them kicked Ah Mei's shoulder as she kneeled before them. She wailed even louder. Then one of the soldiers grabbed her arm and dragged her to the stove. He took out a can of tea leaves and gave to her while pointing to the stove. They wanted tea. Ah Mei placed the pot with water on the earthen stove and added more firewood. Slowly the fire burned again and the water started boiling, all under the watchful eyes of the soldiers. She carefully poured some water into a chinaware teapot and then poured the water away. Then she put a couple of spoonful of tea leaves into the pot and poured hot water.

The lizard was back on the wall near the teapot. She was about to cover the teapot when the soldier who had a gun suddenly pushed her to the ground. Ah Mei knew that the worst nightmare was there. She tried to get up and run, but he caught her by her hair and yanked her back. She fell backwards. Not giving up, she tried to roll away towards the entrance but his hold was very powerful. The next few minutes remain as blurry memory in her mind. She remembered one of them unzipping his pants while saying something to his comrade. Then there he was on top of her, ripping her clothes off and then...pain. Ah Mei passed out and she had no idea for how long, but that night seemed endless with pain after pain and smell of male sweat above her.

General Yamauchi sat at his table and the first thing he saw was the message from Malaya. Another two soldiers - including one senior commandant, who was his favourite soldier, had died the previous day of food poisoning. They had gone raiding some kongsi and the next morning found dead, frothing in the mouth. General Yamauchi had cautioned his men against consuming local food and looks like the dead soldiers have disobeyed his orders. Sighing, the General crumpled the paper and threw it away. Now he needs to look for another senior commandant for Malaya.

The Burning of the British Pound

Late grandpa was attending to his mandore duty when his co-mandore called him. In rubber estates, they have a very unique way of communicating. Each person who wants to call out will do so in a sing song manner, throwing his/her voice as far as possible – sounds a little like birds. Only once grandpa demonstrated the technique to me, yes, sound actually can travel over a distance.

So, the co-mandore called grandpa who was working in another part of the rubber estate using his primitive technology and when grandpa arrived at the estate office (I think, the rubber estate was owned by Harrisons Plantations then), he was told that the Japanese had landed in Kota Bharu, Kelantan. Kota Bharu is the border town between Malaya and Thailand (used to be known as Siam). The Japanese entered using bicycles, mind you! A little bit of history – as Japanese conquered countries across Asia, the Siam King had made a deal -His Majesty had agreed for Japanese to pass through in return for not occupying Siam. Thus, the Japanese never occupied Siam/Thailand.

The co-mandore told him that their white man boss had asked them to empty the safe in the estate office and burn all the British currency they had kept there. In the olden days, the safes were built into the wall, crossed with a heavy iron plank, held in place by two huge padlocks. Each key would be held by one person, that was their risk mitigation. If he safe needed to be opened, both key bearers need to be present.

However, on that day, the co-mandore had both keys and both, grandpa and he started emptying the safe. Apparently, there were bundles and bundles of British currency in that safe. While grandpa started a fire, his co-mandore started removing the currency notes. Not all the notes were thrown into the bonfire. As grandpa watched, the other man started stuffing the currency notes into his pockets! Late grandpa was a loyal employee who followed instructions to the T.

His friend’s actions baffled him. Why, he asked. `Look here, anna (brother), the white Bosses have all ran away to Singapore. They will go back to England from there. No one is going to save us. One day the Japanese will go away, then we can use this money,’ he said as he stuffed more notes into his pockets. Grandpa just watched. After burning as much as they could and having stuffed enough in his pocket, the co-mandore and grandpa returned to their homes.

In hindsight, looks like the co-mandore did the smart thing, not right, but smart. The Japanese occupation ended in 1945 after Hiroshima and Nagasaki were bombed and when the British returned, their currency was back in circulation. Grandpa said, the last he heard, his co-mandore had used the money he stashed away to set up a farm and rear cows somewhere in the southern part of the Peninsular. And grandpa? The loyal employee was poor as ever and I remember him showing me one note that he had kept all those years. I asked him – grandpa, why did you take just one? You should have taken more so that we will also be rich now. To that he answered, `I didn’t think it was right to steal from the hand that fed me.’ Yes, gramps, it was not right, and you did the right thing.

Pachiamma `Kura’

The year was in the ‘40s. Japanese occupation was at its height in Malaya. I have written before on the atrocities of the Japanese soldiers when they were in Malaya. The Chinese communities were beheaded on sight, their shops raided, their women raped and killed. The Indian immigrants were not spared as well. Most were estate workers who had to leave for rubber tapping as early as 5 a.m. constantly fearing wild animals, ghosts…and Japanese soldiers.

                                                (Not my grandma 😂😃)

That day, my late grandmother, Rosemary was out tapping rubber, minding her own business. Along came a Japanese soldier also minding his own business, but late grandma had not forgotten the spat she has with another Japanese soldier where she had broken a bottle of rice broth (see https://survivingemptynestmyway.blogspot.com/2019/10/who-is-responsible-for-our-dignity-and.html ). So, in her style of resistance, she spat on the ground to show her displeasure over his presence. Firstly, grandma should not have done that. What was the need? Secondly, spitting on to the ground is like 9/10 kind of insult. The Japanese soldier didn’t take it well. He called her `Kura, kura’. I believe in Japanese language `kura’ means come. She went and stood in front of him, a midget of a woman dwarfed by the not so tall Japanese soldier. He had said something in Japanese, she did not respond. Then he asked for her name – surprisingly, in English. Grandma Rosemary knew she was in trouble by then, so she said her name was…yes, you guessed it – Pachiamma! I do not know whether it was her ingenuity to have done that or she had thought that the Japanese was just asking for her name and no consequences to be expected, but nevertheless, she pulled the stunt. So, Pachiamma it was.

Later that evening, at their estate quarters, Grandma Rosemary was cooking when she heard some vehicle driving into the estate complex. A moment later she heard a familiar voice calling out `Pachiamma, kura’. Guess that Japanese soldier didn’t forget after all. During Japanese occupation, rule of the thumb was, if any Japanese soldier coming looking for you, it ain’t good news - RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! And that was what late grandma did – she ran for her life and hid in the jungles behind the estate quarters. Another person also ran, too – the real Pachiamma!