Chapter 1
‘Do I really need this trip?’ his inner self asked him for the umpteenth time. Murukan was climbing down from one of the three blue and white terminal transfer buses that had glided to a stop one behind the other, a moment ago.
An assortment of international passengers, who exited the buses, started walking, carrying or pulling their hand luggage, towards the white giant of an aircraft that stood in the middle of the vast apron.
Clutching a slim black leather briefcase in his left hand and enveloped by a strange, lonely feeling, Murukan, a broad shouldered man of about thirty, too, joined them. He was of average height with a pale brown complexion who was dressed in brown trousers and a green shirt with its full sleeves folded above the elbows.
The sun, had started its descent long since, but was still shining brightly in the cloudless blue sky. He turned and looked at the building in the distance which was strikingly inscribed Bandaranaike International Airport, at the top. The structure looked somewhat diminished from where Murukan stood and glowed in the sun with its windows glittering. There were two other jets at a hangar beyond the runways.
The people began climbing the air stairs and he followed. There was a brisk breeze that made his unruly shock of thick black curly hair blow astray. He felt cold, but refreshed in the wind. The gentle drone of the idling jet engine was very clear now.
The hostess at the entry door of the aircraft greeted him with a broad smile. Her painted red lips and glistening white teeth were striking. She was a pinkish girl with blue eyes and golden hair who looked very smart in her red uniform with cap. A scarf, also red, adorned her neck. He returned the greeting with a polite, friendly nod and stepped in. As he turned to the aisle, he felt that the fuselage cabin was too narrow and a little congested, contrary to what he had imagined a jet airliner to be. ‘How am I going to spend the whole night in this?’ The thought made him a little miserable. A flight attendant who stood at the front, who too was in a similar uniform like the one at the entrance, looked at his boarding card and showed Murukan to his seat. Most of the seats were occupied. He went up to his place, pushed the brief case well into the overhead hatch, closed it and sat down. Leaning comfortably, he started checking and arranging his documents before shoving them all carefully into his shirt pocket and looking around.
The mood in the aircraft was calm, unlike what he had encountered at the airport. This made him feel at ease, a little. The excitement and extraordinary security checks on his way up from the Katunayake junction to the terminal lobby had made him really anxious. ‘Why the hell did I begin this journey,’ he had rebuked himself. ‘Even after everything that I have encountered during these days?’ Luckily, Mr.Karu stayed with him as far as the security gate to see him off. ‘Am to leave at a time when everything appears disturbed, Karu?’ he asked. ‘You know what has happened already.’
‘Don’t worry, Murukan. Some big shot must be leaving for somewhere today, I guess. That’s why all this fuss of security, Otherwise everything is quiet,’ Karu reasoned.
Recalling Mr. Karu’s words now refreshed him and, shedding his tension, he felt relieved. ‘Whatever it may be, there’s no getting back at this stage and I’ve to see to the end,’ he decided. ‘So let me enjoy the trip instead of repentings.’
There were three seats on either side of the aisle in each row. A tall white youth with blonde hair was at the extreme left of his row, by the window. He was wearing a blue pullover and a pair of black jeans and was immersed in the pages of a book.
The seat in between was vacant. Only a small, beautiful, black leather bag was there, leaning against the back of the seat. It was difficult to even guess if it belonged to a man or a woman. Murukan’s thoughts were stirred: ‘Who is going to be that person? From which country? What complexion? Boring? Bothersome? Talkative, maybe? Speaking or not speaking English? How would this person be, my companion for the next ten hours, or even more?’
‘It’ll be very cold tomorrow morning, even if not tonight,’ thought Murukan looking at his corduroy trousers and unrolling his shirt sleeves. The thought of his sweater towed in the hand luggage above comforted him.
This was his first travel on an international flight. A few times he had experienced the local Air Ceylon and then Air Lanka flights that, operated between Palaly and Ratmalana. These flights had all been short, lasting an hour or a little more, and all during the daytime. However, this would be a whole night’s journey and he had imagined a flight on a moonlit night, as well.
Aeroflot flew from Colombo to Moscow every Monday and Thursday evening. ‘Today is a Thursday,’ he recollected, ‘and, luckily, yesterday was the full moon day.’ The time of departure was half past five. When he considered the time, schedules and direction, he thought that the almost-full moon would accompany him for quite a few hours at least. This was a northbound journey and would have been better if he could have got a seat by a window on the right, he was thinking. Instead, he had this one.
Murukan had been addicted to moonlight from the time he could remember; from the time he listened to fables lying on his grandmother’s lap gazing at the endless sky studded with glittering stars, reigned by a moon floating among wisps of clouds. During those days he was able to make out, as grandmother showed, another Aachi, granny, milking a cow, squatting inside the moon. Though the perceptions changed with age and knowledge the obsession remained the same. It had become a habit for him to imagine how would a place he appreciated during daytime would look on a night flooded by the magical milky light.
’What am I going to do for such a long time, till I arrive in Moscow,’ he wondered. He could not continue to read the two hand books he had brought, Let’s Speak in Russian and Moscow City Guide, for the whole time. Maybe he could doze for three hours or four, at most. Murukan looked around. Almost all the seats were occupied now.
Crowns of coconut trees, glistening yellow in the evening sun, appeared on the horizon through the small oval window. Fromthecornerofhiseye, hesawsomeone approaching. It was the companion he was awaiting.
Murukan sat up straight and pulled his legs back to make room for the person to pass. The gentleman was white, and in a full grey suit. He was not very tall, but thickset and with a bald head. He may have been in his mid sixties. With a slight, pleasant nod towards Murukan, he sat down, took his glasses from his pocket and put them on. The youngster at the end of the row was still immersed in his reading, not mindful of the others around him.
’Ladies and gentlemen,’ the overhead address system crackled to life. Murukan observed the peculiarity in the pronunciation of the announcement; the ’the’ being noticeable in places of either t’ or‘d’.
The captain and his crew welcomed the passengers aboard and continued with flight details, altitude at which they are going to fly, temperature outside, the duration of the flight, and so on. ‘The flight time will be…’
‘Now we request the full attention…’ the announcement continued and the flight attendants stood in front of everyone, displaying the emergency procedures, demonstrating how to use the safety jacket. Murukan became absorbed in the display.
Once she finished, the captain’s husky voice returned, ‘we should depart in five minutes.’
The roar of the engine rose to a high pitch and the aircraft pulled forward with a slight jerk. It began to slide smoothly ahead, went on and on slowly and then turned. The speed increased rapidly and the Russian made IL-62 jet was airborne within seconds. The buildings and coconut groves receded fast and oval patches of orange sunlight appeared and disappeared. When the plane tilted and turned, Murukan saw the blue ocean glistening below, like a vast sheet of gold, gilded by the sun.
‘Going to Moscow?’ The older passenger looked at the dark handsome young man seated by his side with a friendly smile.
‘Yes’, replied Murukan, ‘you, too?’
‘No, Paris; but going via Moscow and then London.’
Following the fraction of a second’s confusion, Murukan guessed that ‘then’ sounds as ‘zen’ in the way he spoke.
The simple-looking man, with his puffed cheeks and bald head, reminded Murukan of two world-renowned figures - Alfred Hitchcock, the famous film director, and Nikita Khrushchev, the former leader of the Soviet Union. He proved himself to be very friendly and talkative, but found it difficult to pronounce his latest acquaintance’s name.
Monsieur Bertrand was a citizen of Paris, a furniture maker by occupation, fond of travelling to various parts of the globe and meeting people. Every summer he travelled to a foreign land and this year he had come to this tropical country of Sri Lanka.
He had been on the island for a month and been to several places like Colombo, Kandy, Hikkaduwa and so on…
‘Indeed a magnificently beautiful land. And the people are very kind!’
‘Have you been to Jaffna?’
‘Jaffna?’ Monsieur Betrand had not heard of such a place.
‘In which part of the country is that?’ he asked.
‘In the north; extreme north,’ said Murukan. ‘I’m from that area.’
’Oh, then you speak Tamoul?’
‘Yes.’
Thick clouds were floating below, like cotton balls soaked in yellow ink.
‘I think we are now flying above India, probably,’ observed Murukan.
‘Yes,’ Mr. Bertrand agreed and after a while he asked, ‘you must be going to Moscow for studies, I suppose?’ His eyes looked rather sharp and intelligent, despite his carefree appearance.
‘Yes, for a month and a half.’
‘Six weeks only?’ wondered Bertrand.
‘Yes, to follow a course on the Russian language.’
‘You think you can study the language in six weeks?’
‘This is only a refresher course. I have already completed two years of study in Colombo.’
‘Very nice,’ admired Mr. Bertrand. ‘How did you get the opportunity of this travel?’
‘I did well in my studies and also started teaching the language in Jaffna.’
‘Teaching whom?’
‘A few students from Jaffna who have gained scholarships to the Soviet universities who wanted to learn some basic Russian before they left. So I help them.’
‘That’s really interesting,’ appreciated Bertrand.
The sun was shining brightly outside. Murukan had a look at his watch. Half past six. Sun light was possible considering the direction and altitude of the flight, he thought. ‘It’ll take some more time for it to disappear.’
He heard the clattering of cans and cutlery and turned.
Two hostesses emerged from behind the air craft, pushing trolleys full of trays and started serving the meals.
When he had finished eating, the tray remained more than half full, with some items left even untouched, a result of his avoiding the suspicious ‘non-veg’ looking things. He had to manage with the piece of cheese, a couple of slices of cucumbers and some unknown fruit, and the citrus juice.
‘You’re going to face problems about your meals in Russia,’ Bertrand smiled, looking at the tray when Murukan had finished.
All the passengers fell asleep after the meals only to woke up to listen to the address system announcing that they are about to land at Abu Dhabi airport for a short stopover.
‘We can stretch our limbs for a while, they will wait here for forty minutes,’
Monsieur Bertrand prepared to get down. Even though not fully willing to get out of his slumber, Murukan thought, ‘why miss the chance of stepping into another foreign soil, even it’s for a short while?’
Murukan soon found that he had taken a wise decision. The passenger terminal of the Abu Dhabi airport was a massive circular hall like the underside of a giant mushroom, that was breathtakingly beautiful; the curved blue and green hexagonal tiled ceiling was aesthetically illuminated. The dreamland edifice made Murukan feel as if he was really in a reverie as he suddenly entered the great hall. He strolled leisurely savouring the charm of the structure.
Returning from the washroom, he sat on a vacant seat, in a row where he noticed most of his fellow passengers were seated, and stretched his legs. The big clock above at a distance showed a quarter to nine. Murukan had a look at his wrist watch and deduced that the Sri Lankan time was one and a half hours ahead of that of the United Arab Emirates.
Some people came and sat by his side. It was the group of youngsters he had seen at the Katunayake airport while he was waiting at the terminal lobby. All three of them seemed to be between the ages of twenty and twenty five and were now busy talking together. Murukan recognised the boys, at first sight, as his own countrymen, from Jaffna. Though he was tempted to go and speak to them, then at Katunayake, he avoided the thought, fearing the risk of creating suspicions in the eyes of omnipresent security personnel. The officers would have definitely thought that the group of three youngsters and this young man are up to some mischief as they all look apparently from Jaffna.
’Annai,’ the one seated by his side addressed him as ‘big brother’ in Tamil, and asked, ‘are you from Jaffna?’
He was of medium complexioned with a bright pair of eyes, and was in a light-green checked shirt and a pair of black trousers.
‘Yes,’ Murukan smiled and looked at the trio, asking, ‘you, too?’
‘Yes,’ the second boy, fair and curly-haired, replied.
’Are you going to the UK, annai?’ The third one, who was sporting a thin moustache, asked.
They all looked naïve and innocent with an air of excitement about them.
‘No, going to Moscow,’ replied Murukan, ‘what about you?’
‘Berlin…’ said the fair boy.
‘For the time being,’ corrected the first one.
‘Why do you say so?’ Murukan asked. ‘What after that?’
‘We ourselves don’t know,’ they said in unison, smiling helplessly.
‘It all depends,’ the first one spoke again. ‘And we have to decide after going to East Berlin.’
‘We want to find a place to live a safe life wherever possible and earn for our life.’
Murukan kept silent, not knowing what to say and feeling sorry for them. He asked, ‘why didn’t you proceed with your studies at home?’
’Annai, we have finished our Advanced levels with good results in the Mathematics stream, but we couldn’t get the university admission,’ the first boy laughed bitterly. ‘Looking for jobs and going to Colombo to attend interviews is also out of the question because of the situation.’
‘How could one forget what happened last year?’ the boy with the moustache asked, and continued after a pause, ‘my father who was working in Colombo, had a narrow escape during the riots and didn’t want to go to his job after that. Now he’s looking after the garden in our village, cultivating vegetables.’
Murukan kept silent, not knowing what to say.
‘You know the risk of staying in Jaffna at our age,’ the fair boy remarked.
‘We don’t go abroad willingly; but is there any other way?’
They continued talking and the announcement to board again seemed to come too early for Murukan.
Monsieur Bertrand was soon snoring even before the plane was airborne again. Murukan strained his eyes by looking through the window, but there wasn’t any indication of moonlight anywhere. It was completely dark outside and the small glass window reflected the interior only.
Better to have another nap now, otherwise I’ll feel tired tomorrow,’ he thought. ‘If I can reach my room on time, I would be able to stretch out for another couple of hours before starting work.’
Suddenly a worry set in. Would there be anyone at the airport to receive and take him to the place where he was going to stay? If there wasn’t, that would be a problem; he would have to find the way himself.
When Murukan started his journey, he was delayed by a week. ‘We’ve informed your new date of arrival to our league in Moscow,’ Mr.Karu, the good-hearted, ever-smiling gentleman who was in charge of coordinating the training program from Colombo, told Murukan while driving in his red Austin Mini from Colombo to Katunayaka. ‘If they get that message on time, somebody will come and pick you up; but if there’s any delay in it reaching there, no one will turn up,’ Mr Karu continued. ‘Keep the contact address and phone number with you carefully.’
Even though Murukan had said at the time, ‘I can manage,’ a slight anxiety now re-emerged.
However, when compared to those three young boys he had met, this could not be called a problem at all! They had started the journey without even knowing their ultimate destination, the route and even what was in store for them. What a huge risk they are facing! What would have they told their parents, siblings, loved ones when they were leaving? Why else would they make such a decision, other than the political upheaval in the country and the insecurity confronting them?
Murukan turned back to have a look at them. ‘These young people,’ he thought. ‘ A couple of years younger than me, maybe, but venturing into new and unknown pastures, and in search of safe havens in the west. They have only two things with them: a compulsion to leave and a hope for the future.’
He wanted to divert his thoughts and wanted to fall asleep; closing his eyes, he started counting, the republics that formed the Soviet Union. There were fifteen he could name before falling asleep. Russia, Ukraine, Byelorussia, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, Kirghizstan, Latvia, Lithuania, Georgia, Moldavia, Turkmenistan, Estonia…
Murukan came to his senses only when the aircraft was about to land at the Sheremetyevo airport. The seat belt warning sign illuminated and there were repeated announcements in English and in Russian. His wristwatch showed a quarter to five, the Sri Lankan time. The local time was one and a half hours behind, said another announcement. He set his watch accordingly. The craft began its descent and the ground lights rose up quickly. The thud of wheels emanated through the aircraft as it landed.
The passenger bridge was very long thought Murukan while walking rapidly through the tunnel- like structure. ’Annai…’ he heard the call from behind and guessing who it would be, stopped and turned. Yes, it was those Jaffna boys. They were coming towards him quickly.
’Annai, can you please find out and let us know where the transit passengers to East Berlin have to wait?’ the first one asked. ‘Sure, why not,’ Murukan looked at the smiling youthful faces and said.
There was no enquiries bureau to be seen anywhere when they reached the terminal and he politely approached the first official they saw, excusing himself. ’prostite menya pozhaluysta …’
The transit lounge was close by, he translated what the officer told him.
The boys thanked and bade him goodbye. ‘What an irony, getting acquainted with these people by saying goodbye!’ Murukan reflected. Sincerely wishing them good luck, he turned and walked with a heavy heart towards the immigration and custom clearance.
When he emerged into the massive foyer, the clock showed half past four. Murukan stopped for a while and had a look around.
A youngster was coming towards him with a quick springing walk. He was short and was wearing a suit.
’Are you from Sri Lanka? Are you Mrookaan?’ He had a charming face. Murukan felt a relief. ’Dhaa!’ he stepped forward.
’Ya Sergei, Sergei Ivanovich,’ the young man stretched out his hand, ‘I’ve come here to pick you up.’
’Ochin priyaathnaa,’ Murukan shook hands with him, ’spaciba.’
‘So you speak Russian?’
‘A little…’
’Harassho! Let’s go.’
When they came out and walked towards the vehicle park, the first streaks of the morning sun were already beginning to crown the tall buildings in the distance. Murukan told himself, ‘this is summer and the time of the white nights.’ The air was not excessively cold, but proved comfortable. They walked past rows of taxis and small groups of lively drivers chatting nearby.
‘That’s our car,’ Sergei indicated.
When he got in, Murukan noticed it was a left-hand drive vehicle. Yes, the vehicles drove on the right side of the road here.
‘Moscow city is about thirty kilometers from the airport.’ Sergei turned the vehicle with a smart and quick U shape.
The road remained very quiet except for occasional cars whooshing in either direction.
The tall trees on both sides were alluring.
‘What made you become interested in the Russian language, may I ask?’ Sergei turned towards Murukan with an appreciative smile.
’I was interested in literature and an ardent reader from my very young days.,’ Murukan also smiled. ’I was able to read many Russian literary masterpieces in translations, first in Tamil, my mother tongue and then in English as well; all published by Progress Publishers, Moscow...’
’Recently, it was re-named Rathuga Publishers,’ intervened Sergei.
‘Yes,’ Murukan continued. ‘When I was working in Colombo, I started going to the Soviet Cultural House library to borrow books. Then I found out that they were conducting Russian language classes in the evenings. So, I thought if I study the language I would be able to enjoy the original literary works, one day. There were two other attractions: the classes were conducted completely free of charge and taught by the native speakers which was an assurance of the standard. So I joined the classes and followed them for two years, two days a week and two hours a day.’
‘Can you read the books now?’
‘Only simple ones…’
‘Why not continue to study?’
‘I started the third year, but in the meantime got a transfer and had to leave Colombo.’
’Ochin Plachevno!’ Sergei regretted.
When this trip had been finalised, Murukan had hurriedly tried to refresh his knowledge by browsing a couple of books he had had.
‘You speak fairly well,’ Sergei’s brown eyes glittered.
‘Thank you.’
The appearance of more and more buildings showed that they were nearing the city. All high- rises, of more than ten storeys, they appeared to be apartment houses. The rays of the sun had already started painting them with a yellowish glow.
‘Moscow is still sleeping,’ remarked Sergei with a gentle smile.
The car turned from the highway into a wide street, went along and stopped in front of a tall building.
‘Pushkin Institute,’ said Sergei, switching off the engine.
Murukan’s room was on the seventh floor of the thirteen-storied dormitory tower.
It was a double room. and looked modern and spotless. Both beds remained vacant.
Murukan put down his travel bag on the chair on the right and sat on the bed by its side. There were three more hours before Sergei would return to pick him up for his programme for the day. ’You can have a nap and be ready. On our way, let’s go to the stolovaya for your breakfast,’ Sergei had said. Murukan did not feel like having a rest. He had had enough last night during the flight, he thought.
The toilet was on the right, next to the door. A dry, pungent smell of disinfectant struck his nostrils as he entered. He started brushing his teeth.
The face reflected in the wall mirror looked different, like somebody else’s; slightly worn out with dishevelled hair and a day’s stubble.
Setting a balance between the cold and hot taps and adjusting the water temperature was a little bit of a challenge.
’What would my home people do at this time? As usual, everybody- father, brothers and sister – will be rushing by now to get ready to go to work, and mother will be busy in the kitchen. The bells of the Vairavar temple in front of the house would be pealing for the morning pooja,’ Murukan pondered while under the shower. ‘Would anyone from the forces or police go home today to inquire about me and about my visit here as somebody mentioned earlier? Am I too selfish to leave my loved ones in trouble and come over here for my own pleasure?’
‘No, nothing problematic will happen; why should I think negatively, forgetting the assurances that were given to me?’ Murukan tried to soothe himself and felt the fresh lather of the gentle, exotic-smelling soap washing down his worries as well.
