Towards the Horizon

By Kanna

In Towards the Horizon, the author records the changes in the lives of the working class in the rubber plantation from where he originatedseen from his point of view.

Subtle and thought-provoking, the author invites the readers to recollect the plight of settlers in a rubber plantation in Malaya during the 1940s and their life thereafter all the way through to 2010s.

Were the settlers treated fairly?
From the plantation, where does the path of life lead to?
Can a settler go against the odds to opt for a path other than what is destined for him?
Can persistence change the destiny of a settler?

A seventy-year-old epic tale of mixed emotions and ups and downs makes it a journey worth taking.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Jun 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543746532

Kanna

Kanna has been a revolutionist; activist and outspoken leader. Born into a family of illiterate rubber tappers, he went on to become a university graduate; developed the blueprint for national curriculum and led educational institutes in Malaysia and Brunei. Today, he is a doting parent, loving grand dad, a father figure to many and still a social activist.

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Copyright © 2018 by KANNA.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Contents

Come into Our Life

The Estate Community

Early School Years

Secondary School

Teacher Training

The First School

University Days

An Accident

EEC Days

Form Six Centre Days

CPI Days

A House to Call My Own

England Days

Promotion

STAR Days

Brunei Days

My Children

Towards the Horizon

Come into Our Life

C onsolidated Estate, the rubber plantation we lived on, was about 5 miles away from Riang, a small town with only two streets. All the government offices were there. The people – mostly plantation workers, living as far as 40 miles away – had to make a day-long journey to the town for their official dealings, like getting their identity cards or citizenship applications proce ssed.

Consolidated Estate was quite small by the standards of European-owned plantations. Fewer than a hundred people, all Tamils, lived on the plantation. The property owner appointed a manager and an assistant to run the plantation. They were to ensure that the workers toiled well and profits came in.

A Chinese Towkay not only recorded the amount of latex brought in by the workers but was also in charge of the store – the factory where the latex was coagulated, pressed into sheets, and smoked before being exported. He lived with his family in a detached wooden house with a corrugated tin roof situated next to the factory. He was the only one permitted to rear pigs for extra income, which he did across from his house, amidst the rubber trees.

Then there were a few Tamil kanganis – foremen – who managed all the workers and made sure they performed their duties well. These foremen were selected from the workforce, as the men were of the same stock and had full knowledge of not only what the labourers talked about but also what they thought about plantation matters.

As one alighted from the hourly bus travelling between the towns of Riang and Sungai Dua and entered the estate, indicated by a small red sign with white letters, the Murugan Temple came into view. The place of worship was a small wooden structure with a waist-level wall. A huge peepal tree, considered auspicious, stood majestically at the temple entrance.

Next to the temple was a small estate office, where records of all the estate’s transactions were kept. Along the dirt gravel road, past the Towkay’s house, was the factory.

The residents collected their only source of drinking water from a small tank perched on iron stilts next to the factory. A small pond which provided water for the store came into view next. A half-open gate allowed one into the living zone of the workers. A barbed wire fence warded off trouble from outside as well as from within. The gate served as a deterrent to the occasional unwanted motor vehicles that might attempt to intrude.

A football pitch surrounded by living quarters was the landmark of Consolidated Estate. The uneven field had roughly set-up tree-trunk goalposts at both ends. The gravel road south of the field led to more workers’ lodgings. At the end of these quarters was a man-made lake from which the people drew water for their domestic needs.

Just before the lake, one had to turn right to our quarters. It was the oldest of the accommodations provided on the plantation and was known locally as the Thekku Layam (Southern Lines). The accommodations provided for the plantation workers housed about twenty families under one roof. It was a long wooden hall about 20 feet wide and 60 feet long built on stilts. The roof was thatched with mangrove palm leaves or attap.

Each partition of the long block was allocated to a family, and each wooden flight of stairs led to two living areas meant for two families. The occupants slept on the open, uneven wooden planks. The labour lines had neither rooms nor furniture of any kind. Belongings were kept in wooden boxes and shelves, crudely made by the inhabitants themselves. They kept their belongings virtually unlocked and had, in fact, nothing to hide.

All the cooking was done in the open space under the living areas allocated for each family. It was not a secret as to what each family cooked, for all it took was a look over to the next stove. Incidentally, each stove was made of three stones placed in a triangle so that earthen pots could be placed on them. The stove was fuelled by dried rubber wood collected from the plantation.

It was not uncommon to hear complaints that much or all of the meat or fish in the pot had gone missing overnight. There was no way to secure one’s belongings, so everything was left to mercy. The people did not have much that needed protection. Whenever something was required, it was easily available from friendly neighbours. All one had to do was make a request, and the matter was solved. It was common knowledge what each possessed. Or was it a larger design to inculcate unity among the people on the plantation?

Living in Unity

Marthayee, you are cooking fish today, neighbour Saras quipped.

Oh, yes, my mother replied while tending to the stove. You know our Maniam went fishing yesterday, and he’s given me a couple.

Such would be the common start to a conversation while each person went about her chores. Then the conversation would deviate into myriad subtopics, usually culminating in discussions about the hardships families underwent. At times, it led to Spare me a cup of sugar? or Spare some rice? or even Lend me five dollars. I’ll certainly return the money when I receive my salary.

The day started with the muster call in the morning. I never had the opportunity to watch my parents and other workers go for their muster at about half past five or earlier every morning. If a worker failed to attend the roll call, he or she would be replaced with another worker and not only lose the day’s income but face the wrath of the management. The kanganis conducted these assemblies and were empowered to take attendance, allocate work lots, and mete out punishment to unsatisfactory workers.

I told Paapaathi that she has to really bend down to tap those rubber trees where the tracks on the bark have gone low, commented Saras to my mother. "She disregarded my advice, and Mathavan kangani has suspended her for two weeks." No further comments were made.

Not only did the workers have to slice rubber-tree bark to collect latex, they also had to execute their duties in a most subservient manner. They were despised if their work clothes or shoes were fanciful. Of course, they were forbidden to speak their minds, especially against the management. There were informers who duly relayed such messages to the relevant authorities. Action was taken against the culprit immediately.

The clangour of tin pails used for collecting and carrying latex to the factory usually woke me early in the morning. Everyone got ready to attend to daily chores before six in the morning. Some women could be heard waking up their children. Others busied themselves preparing a simple morning meal.

Hazy figures were seen moving in the morning darkness. A man here and another there would light up to have a puff on a beedi, providing indications of someone walking away into further darkness of the rubber plantation. They were not to be seen smoking the meagre rolled-tobacco-leaf beedi in the presence of even the kangani, not to mention the manager.

Has Kabali gone to school today? asked Muthammah while walking along the well-worn path into the darkness of the plantation. She carried two pails for collecting latex on a 5-foot pole on her shoulder.

I told him to go, but he still has the swelling on his leg, replied Kalyani. The coffee powder you applied to the spot where the dog bit him yesterday has not given him much comfort.

Little Parvathi, tagging along with her mother in the darkness, carried a small cloth bag containing a tiffin carrier and black coffee in a used whiskey bottle. The food was leftover rice from the previous night’s meal. In the whiskey bottle, she had coffee with no milk but a little sugar. She shared the food with her mother, Sellamah, after helping her slice the bark of the few hundred rubber trees allotted for the day’s work.

Children’s help was needed to lighten their parents’ burden. The job involved cleaning dried rubber from the latex cup, removing the rubber from the groove on the bark, and removing a layer of the groove with a special tapping knife to get the sap oozing along it into the cup attached to the trunk of the tree.

When the stipulated number of trees had been dealt with, the tappers rested for a while to eat the food they’d brought along. At about quarter to eleven, they collected the latex from each tree into the tin pails and took them to the factory a few miles away. This break was necessary, not so much for the humans to stop work but more to allow the latex to drip into the cups.

Parvathi took out the food she brought while her mother washed up in the ditch between a few rows of neatly planted rubber trees. Her mother sat down on a large protruding root, took out the cold food, and served Parvathi before eating her own lunch.

You’ve finished tapping your lot quite quickly, commented her neighbour Kalyani.

Oh, yes. Parvathi came early today, and with her help, I have managed. What are you having for break? asked Sellamah.

I have had a throbbing headache since last night. My husband bought a loaf of bread and sent me a few slices with black coffee. I hope the nagging pain will disappear.

That’s the sound of the drum, reminded Sellamah. "Let’s start collecting the latex. I hope Vellayan is playing the drum on time today. You know him. Sometimes he’s forgetful, especially after a heavier dose of samsu the day before," she said, referring to the illicit locally brewed liquor.

Sellamah and Parvathi started moving from tree to tree, emptying the milky white latex into their tin pails. As they progressed, their pails became heavier. They carried the containers with their bodies leaning away to balance themselves. All the workers became engaged in similar activity, and there was a sense of urgency as they went about their duties.

Be careful, Parvathi, cautioned Sellamah, breaking the silence and issuing a warning to her daughter a few rows away. Don’t spill the latex. Remember the latex was stuck on you and your clothing for two days when you tipped your container on yourself the other day.

Can you hear the rumble of rain approaching our area, Sellamah? screamed Kalyani from a distance. Better hurry up, or else all the latex will be washed away by the rainwater.

The threatened rain soon came down. The collectors began to speed up their movements. It was sheer human effort against the wrath of nature. Once the latex became diluted with rainwater, it could not be taken to the factory to be coagulated. The fluid had to have a specific density. The workers’ efforts for the day would come to naught.

On collecting the latex from all the trees, the workers, male and female, filled two-and three-gallon tin buckets, then carried the buckets on their shoulders hooked onto a five-foot-long pole. They moved at something between a quick-paced walk and a run. The pole would sag at both ends with the weight and swing a little like a spring. It was much like the kavadi-bearers who had vowed to do their penance for Lord Subramaniam during Thaipusam celebrations.

Oh, my toe, cried Ponni. She quickly unloaded her containers from her shoulders and held her bare foot. Tears were dripping down her cheeks, and blood was streaking from the wound inflicted by a rubber-tree root jutting out of the uneven ground. Those ahead of her continued their journey to the factory unperturbed, as the incident was common. Sellamah, who was at her heels, paused.

Here, apply this slaked lime on your toe, and it will be all right soon. Sellamah offered a small container in her little pouch for betel leaves and other condiments which were chewed by most workers. Soon both Ponni and Sellamah were on their way to their destination, the injury forgotten.

At the Factory

The factory stank like hundreds of rotten eggs had all been hurled into one spot. This was where the latex collected by the workers was processed. Some factory hands prepared large rectangular tanks for coagulating latex. These were about four feet wide, fifteen feet long, and about three feet in depth. Latex was mixed thoroughly with formic acid in those tanks. Thin aluminium sheets were placed at about 2-inch intervals in the tanks, and the solution was left overnight to thicken. Very early the next morning, the aluminium plates were removed, and the flabby white rubber cakes were passed through mangles to be pressed into very thin striped sheets.

Once this was over, the dripping white sheets were hung on horizontal poles in little wagons placed on rails, which were pushed into a nearby kiln where the sheets were smoked. Rubber logs were burnt to smoke the rubber sheets. After about twelve hours, the sheets came out dry and golden brown in colour, ready to be bundled into bales for export. A gang of workers functioned like clockwork to get the product ready.

The factory, with walls and roof of corrugated zinc sheets, was a hive of activity with the number of rubber tappers entering the huge place. The dirty and soggy floor added to the sordid condition of the place. Clambering of tin containers and loud conversation created such a din that almost nothing was comprehensible. The workers were in a hurry to submit their latex collection for the day and get back to their quarters to attend to their families.

At the entrance to the factory, the kangani made each worker empty the latex into a large drum hanging from a huge weighing scale. He collected a small tin jug of the liquid and poured it into a small container to determine its density using a hydrometer. The old Chinese clerk squatting on a wooden stool next to an ancient worn-out table recorded the weight and density – as screamed out by the kangani – in a dilapidated book.

"Sellamah, annam puloh! Satu tengah! (Sixty pounds of latex! One and a half hydrometer