Followers of the Dead Man

Followers of the Dead Man

G. Haritharan

Copyright © 2011 G. Haritharan and s4mT

First published by s4mT in 2006 ISBN 978 0 9552958 0 5

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Other books by G. Haritharan:

The Depression of Surya (and Stories from this Era) https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42621

For the patiences of my sister and dear mother

In the history of Ceylon... the Eela Tamils never lost their kingdom entirely, except for two short periods of 16 and 6 years, while for much longer periods Tamil kings have ruled over all Ceylon, history is repeating itself and must indeed repeat itself, adapted to modern conditions. When dharma decays and adharma prospers providence intervenes to destroy the wicked and to protect the weak. That ear has dawned once more in Ceylon. Will the Eela Tamils in this hour of danger and disaster to their nation, show their worth and their valour? Will they do their duty, unite as brothers... and join in the Eela Tamil struggle for independence?

1958, C. Suntheralingam (M.P. for Vavuniya, Ceylon)

All times, persons and places are relative to this tale. If you find parts familiar, you maybe more knowledgeable than some. Remember: keeping your mind receptive will help you enjoy exactitude.

If you still feel giddy, please place this volume safely and partake to another task.

Introduction

What is tea? It is a drink. It is a hot drink. Drank by millions… hold on, billions of people across this planet. What is guaranteed is that anybody who is reading this book has tasted a quantity of tea in his or her lifetime.

No matter where you are on this planet you will have access to a cup of tea. Many rally sand racers in the Sahara desert are known to carry a flask or two with them while they bid to defeat both conditions and their opponents alike. Inuits in Greenland have indeed been boiling their brews for a very long time – nothing like a hot liquid infusion for a cold environment. In fact (and without being too bold) tea is the most consumed beverage in the world.

Imagine a population of 6,673,382,116 (that’s six billion, six hundred and seventy-three million, three hundred and eighty-two thousand, one hundred and sixteen). Taking away babies and small children (of course, a few others for random variable reasons) leaves us with at least a couple of billion people. So at least two billion individuals (or in groups) purchase some sort of tea leaf for their brewing habits. Collectively, that is big business; lots of tea = lots of people making tea, lots of ingredients to construct tea (tea leaves and other) which ultimately means: lots of money. Aside, individually, it is ‘big’ business for another ground.

A glass/cup/mug/pot of tea is brewed in many different ways defined mainly by the different people who make the brew. Strong tea/light tea is a favoured distinction which is usually measured by the amount of time a tea bag is left in the water for; the longer the stronger. Milk definition is another; a lot, a little or no milk and also the type, affect its taste and colour. You probably have your favourite way of making tea that others just do not abide by when making a cup for you. Don’t be too harsh on them; they simply have an alternative taste for the leaf that takes them into their own. Whatever the situation, the concoction of tea is a big deal – it is special, different and very personal. Personal due to the feelings a good (also for that a matter a bad) cup of tea can bring.

During at least one of the cups of tea you have had in your lifetime you must have felt the tea feeling. It is the reaction you find yourself in which can only be described as a ‘funk of delicacy’. Whilst drinking you would have assumed this position: two hands on the cup very much engulfing it; the cup to your lips and eyes starring blindly into a scene that sits just behind the steam rising up off of the liquid. It is a zone of mind but is definitely a separate feeling or emotion. This ‘zone’ can quite easily be interrupted – hence why I have labelled the funk; a delicacy. But, if the zone is not broken up, it will last.

Have you ever wondered why this feeling is tied only with tea? Think about it. When was the last time a coffee or hot chocolate caused such a moment? Never. Now, be not confused by the beautiful feeling of warmth and relaxation a good (i.e. not too ‘cocoa-ed’) chocolat can bring. That is plain enjoyment (and not the same funk) which can occur with anything that you do, let alone drink.

Don’t believe me? Try it, perhaps my way. Boil the kettle and place the tea bag in the cup adding sugar to taste. When the boiling process has finished pour in the water to the level of your desire adding milk (of your preference) after you have removed the tea bag. Take a seat with your tea in a quiet area and follow the position described in the previous paragraphs. You will never experience a feeling that you can call this.

Is there a connection between this distinct and separate feeling with the widespread nature of tea? I cannot really conclude in favour; this is merely an introduction to a story and not an answer to a question that is a lot bigger. For now, just sit, relax and read on, losing yourself in the narrative. Realise that the complexity of everything is very unnecessary, when you can read something simple…

…this, as long as you are sipping at a hot cup of your preferred variation of tea.

Dear Diary - S

Oh, am I mad?

A simple answer to that. I have sacrificed a lot and I understand that the good of all is at stake here… but what the fuck? This is my personal space to vent my frustration – livid! Many a time you have seen such a display of my written worries, but then many a time I am in these silly pent up situations. I should calm but that is for another day because I have returned to sit in my lonely flat – and it is Saturday. I should be out of the country and fighting for what I believe in. Do you know what that feels like? To struggle against an oppression, forgive the fucking rhyme but it is an obsession!? There is no give up but if I am told by my boss to just sit back, hope and simply assume that it will all go according to plan then he doesn’t know my commitment?

Ever since Tim approached me on the lucky fateful day two years ago. I say fateful because I UNDERSTAND! It was not he who found me or I vice versa, but it was the governing of… well it. Them. Whatever, it’s labelled as fate, destiny, movement – again, WHATEVER. I discovered the group and they discovered me and now I am as much apart of this… as even big Mo’.

Ok, ok. The hostility is making me sound like I have the want to disrespect this gathering. No that is not what I want. Not what is intended. I’ll repeat this til I am blue in the face – I believe in this and I believe in Tim’s structures. I do.

Shunted is what I feel and I know it is only on the temporary and I will explain myself, dearest diary, but for now it is vent a vent time with the mere slightest suggestion to my understanding. The appropriate seat for the appropriate agent. With only five spaces I was the obvious casualty seeing as how our latest entrant has grown priority. You know? It’s hard to take and I know I must but it’s still so hard. I will give my all for these people. My people. Their cause is my cause. Maybe if Tim knew that then it would have been different?

I mean my idiot replacement (who I must add is a lying toe-rag and a thief – I mean, who steals from a library – the fucking books are FREE!) is not a believer – believers are who can steer a ship – because they can see. That’s as obvious as it can get… and NO, I am not doubting the leader’s stance (‘the leader’, I make him sound like Hitler or Mussolini… which who is NOT what I want him to sound like). Even Tim says we should question – as that is the essence of our very nature. All that we think of in reality is so clouded by the stupidity of what people think is real and what they don’t know is real. I don’t know if that makes sense, but remember, dear diary, what exactly is sense and how do we get a grasp of such concepts? Tim was clear in his teachings and I will stand by his decision, but even he knows that we all feel and it’s this feeling and drive passion that distinguishes us as human… and that is what we are saving. HUMANITY.

Ok. I’m coherent now. Let me explain.

A. In London, Nobody Knows Your Name

1. It Take’s Character

1.1 Past, Present? Whatever…

-a book; a novel. Investing in characters that will take time effort and eventually a feeling indescribable in words. The get out is the escape; a fortune; a breath. When is it that true emancipation ever been achieved? The feeling of real freedom is that from constraint and shackle - this need not be physical in construction. It is in the case of the novel. These are words strung together to drag emotion. Manipulate emotions. Human beings are not in the necessity of the emotive expense – natural is to stay levelled. Still want to read on? A fool to not heed a warning…

Chris Uranson never drank Coca-Cola. Ever since he was four years old he would not go near the stuff. An allergic reaction he liked to call it. The truth was at that age his older brother, Malcolm, gave him a can to drink out of at a family trip to a theme park. When Chris put it to his lips the elder sibling tilted the can sending the drink too quickly down his throat causing Chris to choke violently. From then onwards the simple image of the red can would bring forward feelings of anxiety and fear.

From this moment (one of his earliest memories), as a child, he grew with a trait for scepticism. It may have been natural but the more obvious tendencies were visible after the Coca-Cola turning point of his life. He was once called the world’s biggest sceptic by one of his primary school teachers. At the time he rejected the claim by telling her that as he believed the world was so big there must be somebody out there that was more sceptical than he was. His teacher laughed but Chris did not, having completely missed the irony, being oh so young.

-do these ‘meet the character’ beginnings to novels really work? Does the word boring ever mean anything to authors who use this plan?

He hated blind acceptance. Questioning was the corner stone of all life’s events. At age six he had an argument with his television when the presenter of a show said that the first species on this planet were dinosaurs. He shouted ‘How do you know?’ out at the enthusiastic furry browed man talking on screen. Neither this individual nor the TV responded. He asked his father, who was too busy to have a proper conversation: response; ‘The scientists, dey knorr’, in his heavy Jamaican accent. What did they know? How did they know it? It did not make sense then and in the light of today’s scientific methods being nothing more than predictions of the closest possibility under very specific conditions, it’s not total sense now either.

-stop the preaching and sketching and start the story telling

(And to the present) - Chris thought taking a break would be a good idea and so ventured downstairs parked himself on the sofa and turned the television on (it was a different one to the box he had access to at six years of age). Half an hour of non-revision related activity would be better for his long term learning plan for the day. He was currently in his second year of study at South Bank University reading psychology. The end of year exam period was in affect, so if he passed, then he would be in his final year come September in four months time. There was not much thinking in his decision to choose psychology as the subject he wanted to have a degree in. It seemed interesting and he figured that he could find out a lot about himself by using psychology to study his own psychology. In terms of a future or career, Chris did not really think that far ahead. It was simply the satisfaction of a short term goal – to get into a university and do a degree.

-he sounds like every student on this planet. Is the tackiness not blatant?

Living at home while at university was not as annoying as he’d imagined. The people he met in the first year were very much easy going and they let him stay around whenever we wanted or needed. The convenience of a two minute walk into a 9am lecture after a heavy night of alcohol abuse is always a plus.

-real students do not make it to 9am lectures, with or without alcohol abuse

Having this nice riposte with his fellow student associates was not as advantageous as could be. Typically with students, his friends were into a clubbing culture which manifested itself on at least a weekly basis. Chris was not the biggest nightclub devotee by a stretch of any twisted imagination. He hated the whole process, from the queuing up in the cold (granted, that’s only in the winter), being frisked by an extremely zealous bouncer, an inappropriate male to female ratio, the pressing up against other male clubbers (a very minimal chance that pressing up duty would be performed by a woman due to the heavy outnumbering proportion) and the overpriced drinks… Safe to say, Chris did not like to engage in the activity.

-or maybe it’s the author who is not fanciful to the endeavour. Classic author – character transference that, in good written technique, is not usually sticking out

His university friends were obviously the opposite and, at first, when getting to know these people he would grin and bear. ‘Concentrate on the music’; the phrase usually let him do this, though if the DJ was on a mission to disappoint, the task would be harder. Nights were spent biting his bottom lip and trying to avoid random limbs from coming into contact with his person. This was a build up that had to vent (and) as he got to know his learned fellows (and) they turned less random (and) more into friends, he found it easier to tell them of his peeve. Indeed, this resulted in a reduction of his clubbing schedule - at a price.

When one does not fit into the norm of a group then questions are inevitably asked. When associated with not wanting to ‘party’, Chris started to be labelled as boring or dull – that sort of thing. This did get to him (though he kept brave face) and he spent many moments contemplating aspects of his personality that would provide contradiction to the tags. It was hard to find them; he is well organised, punctual, thoughtful and overall, just a little too sensible. These times of deliberation (which usually occurred on a bus that travelled either way on the Old Kent Road, towards and from Elephant and Castle) ended with Chris dismissing the notions as derogatory and unnecessary. He had other qualities.

Being a little quiet but crucially not nervous, Chris was seen as quite a mysterious man to his female opposites and naturally this was attractive. Over his later teenage years and up to the present he was never going too long without some sort of female company. Normally, this situation is not something to complain of but Chris was a man who liked to keep to himself, hence he was quiet. The lack of talking kept issues that he had closer to him and this included feelings, which was something that did not really go down too well with the longer term partners, most of whom he did not really care for but there was the one.

-there’s always the one

They met at his sixth form college but only started to date at the beginning of Chris’ second academic year at university. Even in his eyes (and also the many people who knew them both) she was perfect for him; he did not like to talk about his feelings, she did not force him to. He liked his space and to do other things away from the relationship, so did she. It was fair enough to say they would spend the right amount of time with each other. In fact, the relationship was good and there was probably nothing major that he could think of that she faulted on either.

It lasted about five months. It was five months of bliss and heaven for Chris where he found himself questioning why he had got so lucky. There were times where the thought of his fortuitousness physically interrupted any pastime he was occupied in. At first this was a minor event and involved a rye smile exhibited towards a nice feeling of love (or at the very least thereabouts). Then it increased its presence, a little like the earlier description of his categorisation; he started to involve himself in mental debates on why he was positively lucky and then onto whether he deserved it. By the end of the fifth month the discussion in Chris’ mind became too much to handle. The drive to appease his over worked processes was such a force he had to cave in and after a two hour phone call he had finished with her. It was almost as if somebody had taken him over and acted on his behalf (an interesting idea though not exactly one to be received) but he knew he had to take responsibility for his own actions. (Over the phone was not the best idea either).

1.2 Prophecy (3)

The doorbell rang and as it did so, the plastic outer case flew off the bell and landed next to Chris on the sofa. He rose up off the seat and walked towards the front doors. The Uranson family home had a porch with a glass panelled front door and a door to the hall threshold (the centre door) which was completely made of wood. There was no way of seeing who was at the front door until you have opened the middle one. If it had been any other way, Chris would not have answered the visit. Once he was at the front door, however, he had to open it being in full view. The option of peaking through the kitchen window had been bypassed too crudely.

Good morning, son The old African man said. He was old because he looked old and he was African because he was Black and had a heavy African continent accent. I am David and I would like to talk to you, son, about Jehovah your lord and God. Chris hesitated; he knew there would be a point to intervene and tell the gentleman that he was not interested, straight away was an option but how rude would that have been? Still, he thought he may not get another chance… Do you believe in God? Too late.

Yeah… My family is religious. Chris did not want to go into his religious (or lack of) beliefs and also decided at the last moment not to completely lie out right, he just decided to blur the whole truth a fraction.

-the second character introduced into this story is a random man who turns up at a doorstep? That is ludicrous! Surely there are many important people in ‘Chris’’ life that should have preceded a nobody?

That is good to have a strong religious background, my son. David responded smiling peacefully. His batik traditional dress was extremely well ironed, white in the centre and purple at the sides. Tell me, do you know who Jehovah is?

Chris was unsure but suspected that the word itself is a pseudonym for God. He did not wish to venture this just in case he was wrong; however, the opportunity he had only to wait a moment for had arrived.

Sorry, I think that I have to go. Was all that Chris could manage, again, no priority for false excuse.

Oh so soon? David started, tilting his head in an expected disappointment. Well I hope not to keep you, my son. I know you young ones have plenty to deal with. Can I give you this magazine to read?

Chris waited as David reached into the bag hanging off his left hand side and out popped a small and thin publication. While doing so, his bag swung knocking a stick he had previously positioned up against the side wall next to the doorway to the house. Chris bent down quicker and lifted the walking stick. A slick black finish with a grooved top perfectly comfortable for a hand grip. Chris noticed that it had a nice weight to it as he passed the rod to David who accepted it graciously. ‘Thank you, son’ were his words. On reception, the bag now fell from off of his shoulder to the ground with the slack handle staying loosely in his possession (due to a wedge created by his wrist and the walking stick he had just been given). Without looking down at the ‘events’ he kept his head straight and looked Chris directly. In the eyes. That is, once the younger man’s head’s direction came back up level, having hung from the distraction of the sudden movement.

Importance, David started, his face losing the earlier gentle