Slices of Life

By Annan Boodram

Slices of Life is unputdownable. It grabs interest from the get-go with stories that focus on people’s assimilation into societies that treat them differently because of their distinctly vibrant, strange cultural mores and norms.

Pushing the boundaries of the possible is the common thread that runs through this collection of short stories. From India to the United States, Africa to the Caribbean, readers are taken on journeys that weave history with contemporary times, horror and fantasy with reality, unbelievable depravity with bursts of extraordinary courage and determination. As characters exhibit the range of human emotions in facing life’s challenges, they peel off the layers of reality behind social facades.

In-depth, riveting, and soul-searching, Slices of Life is about love and betrayal, scandals and shocking revelations, ecstasy and the extra sensory, with each story embodying characters who search for understanding, relevance, justice, and closure.

Part of the proceeds of this book will support the work of the Caribbean Voice’s suicide and abuse prevention work.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984560087

Annan Boodram

Educator, journalist, army veteran and community and social activist, Annan Boodram, heads the not-for-profit NGO, The Caribbean Voice, engaged in anti-violence activism, especially suicide and abuse prevention in Guyana, the USA and elsewhere. Featured in New York City's Daily News Newspaper in 2008 as an outstanding teacher, recently retired Annan lives in New York City with his wife, Surjwantie, son Jaspal and their feline family member of many endearing names. Much awarded for making a difference in people's lives and his community, Annan is currently working on his second book, yet to be titled and a collection of poems.

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Copyright © 2018 by Annan Boodram.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 11/27/2018

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Table of Contents

Nana

Forbidden

From Deep Within

No More Tears

The Grave

Making Of A President

The Pandit Run

Dedicated to my beloved dad, Boodram Mangal, aka Kaisan, who gave up his material body on the 19th of February, 2013. Much loved, often misunderstood, Dad, you are missed every moment of each day. We pray God grant you eternal rest.

Acknowledgements

My sincere gratitude to Diana Madray, Milton Evertz, Latchman Narine, Vishnu Bisram and the late Sukhree Boodram who gave of their time, efforts and expertise to bring his book to fruition. Thanks also to the many friends and acquaintances, whose encouragement and support kept me going, when the going became extremely tough. Special thanks to my buddies, Vishnu Dutt, Felicia Persaud, John Harricharran and Sasenarine Persaud, whose suggestions and critique have been invaluable. And, of course all praise to the Divine who made it all possible.

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either the product of the authors’s imagination or used in a fictitous manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidence.

Nana

Nana went home to die.

The doctors had given up hope. Overseas treatment had been suggested. His children had been contacted in America. Preparations were under way to have him transferred to a hospital there. But when informed of proceedings he was adamant. "’Merica dactah cyan (can’t) do nutin, he emphasized with a vigorous shake of his head. Me time come."

When Nana made up his mind it was like concrete. But this time he wanted to make sure that no one was going to try to use a pickaxe, so he shut down completely: no food, no beverages and, in spite of the unbearable pains, no medication. No one or nothing could prevail upon him to change his mind. When they kept insisting, Nana stopped talking completely. His one request was written in large letters on a piece of cardboard and he kept pointing to it whenever anyone visited: "Me must see Rishi befo me go." So his wife took him home to the country and Rishi booked his ticket to Guyana.

Meanwhile the older heads, those of the generation immediately after Nana’s, shook their heads knowingly. "Watch dem kyat," they would say when questioned. And anyone who looked would have noticed that the cats, all six of them, had gathered in Nana’s small mandir at the front of the yard, where they kept howling all night. They refused to eat, refused to move and refused to to be quiet.

*******************

Your grandfather was born in 1903 at Non Pariel, Rishi’s father, who had earned a doctorate in Guyanese history, had disclosed. His father had worked there as an indentured laborer.

Indentured laborer?

After the abolition of slavery in the British Empire, in 1834, newly freed ex-slaves refused to work for wages on the plantations. Instead, some sought better opportunities in the towns while many others pooled their resources and purchased abandoned estates, which they converted into villages. In their search for replacement labor, the plantation owners ended up recruiting ‘hill coolies, who were considered ignorant and docile’. They were following Mauritius where contract workers, known as indentured servants, had been sent to provide cheap labor. The first set of laborers to British Guiana arrived in the ships the Whitby and the Hesperus (May 5th 1838).

So that’s why we have this celebration on May fifth every year? interjected Rishi.

Indeed, his father responded. "Enticed by the arkathis, these laborers courted death by crossing the Kala Pani, which means Black Water."

Dad…, started Rishi before he was interrupted.

"Hold on son; I’m getting to that. The arkathis were licensed recruiters who acted as agents of the colonial planters, paid to sell dreams to their poor countrymen. Like the slave catchers of Africa, the arkathis supplied the bodies for the ships to transport across the Kala Pani, (the ocean). In those days Indians believed that unholy demons lurked in the uncharted depths, waiting to eternally damn the foolhardy who dared to venture out too far, by seizing their souls so they could never complete the chakra (wheel) of birth and death."

Columbus… Again Rishi was interrupted.

"Yes, but how many countryside folks in India, at that time, had ever heard about Columbus? Most of them were illiterate.

These arkathis used many cunning, even illegal methods, to trick their fellow Indians, including kidnapping, which was extensively carried out in the villages. Prisons were set up supposedly for the security of the wretched creatures, where they were held captives until they were shipped off to their new home".

Why wretched creatures? intervened Rishi.

"Well because they were not white and Christian and were usually treated like animals rather than humans. In fact, the British used to refer to Indians during colonial times, as brown monkeys. Anyway, once they reached British Guiana, the indentured laborers were provided paltry, fixed wages, for a period of five years, on plantations where they had to reside and could not leave without the direct permission of the owners. At the end of the five years they could return to India or take up offers of parcels of land and live as free citizens.

Your great-grandfather, who arrived in British Guiana at the age of sixteen, in 1895, was sent to Non Pariel where he ended up being involved in one of the more significant struggle against the miserable working and living conditions."

Miserable? queried Rishi once more.

Yes, miserable. They were awakened at 4.30am and they toiled in the burning sun from dusk till dawn. They had no clean water or latrines; their diet was poor; insults, beatings, unbearable drudgery and loneliness were daily companions.

Loneliness? asked Suraya, Rishi’s younger sister.

"Yes, Baby Girl. Almost 60% of the men had no female companionship, as mostly men were recruited. Diseases were rampant with beriberi and hookworm, malaria, dysentery, smallpox, typhoid and tuberculosis most prevalent. From time to time large-scale epidemics killed off so many that the Indians were unable to bury their dead.

The sick were placed in filthy sick houses with no mattresses or pillows and ended up looking like skeletons filled with sores. Generally they were completely abandoned and left to die."

O my God! exclaimed Suraya.

I know Baby Girl. When a conscientious priest, Father John Higgs, discovered the horrible conditions under which the indentured servants lived, he started lobbying the British government on their behalf. London sent an envoy to look into matters, but days before the envoy’s arrival, Father Higgs was murdered by a powerful plantation owner, in the plain sight of a number of indentured servants. Yet, the plantation owner was acquitted of the murder charge because his defence lawyer argued that the accounts given of the murder by the eyewitnesses were to be disregarded since ‘coolies were untrustworthy by nature’.

What! the youngsters exclaimed. This was as bad as slavery!

Well the living conditions were a bit different. The slaves were property of the planters for life and had absolutely no rights. The planters had prevented the African slaves from practicing their religion and culture and actively converted them to Christianity because their souls needed saving and they were easier to control that way. However, the planters allowed the East Indian indentured servants to practice their culture and religion so that the cultural and language differences between the freed slaves and the indentured laborers would prevent any sort of collaboration.

The divide and rule tactic, right dad? asked Mukesh.

"Uh hu. In any case these horrible conditions led to a riot at Non Pariel, on October 13th, 1896, after Indian indentured workers staged a strike. One of the strike leaders was your great-grandfather, who, even though quite young, had established himself as trustworthy, dependable, honest and kind. He was a man of action, who won the respect of everyone, including the main strike leader, Gooljar, whose daughter, Mira, later became his wife. When the police attempted to arrest four of the men, including your great-grandfather, the crowd moved to prevent this action, so the police simply opened fire, killing five persons, and injuring 59 others.

It was this massacre that spurred Bhoshunath Chattopadhyay called Bechu, to write letters, for the next four and half years, to the editors of several newspapers, in which he brilliantly championed the cause of the immigrant laborers. His letters sharply upset the planters, and on two occasions (1898 and 1899) he was prosecuted for libel, but divided juries could not find him guilty. Your great-grandfather was also a friend of Bechu and often helped provide ideas for the letters."

Can you tell us bit more about great-grandfather? asked Suraya.

"According to your grandfather, his father was born to a poor laborer (sudra) family, but it was rumored that he was actually the son of the landowner (zamindar), the richest and most powerful person in the village. Because your great-great-grandmother was from a lower caste, the zamindar’s son could not marry her. So she was married to someone from her own caste who was promised money and land but who received nothing after the marriage. When your great-grandfather learnt of all of this, he sought an audience with his biological father. No one really knows what exactly happened but the result was that the zamindar’s son died from injures suffered and your great-grandfather was secretly and hurriedly dispatched out of the village of Anniyur (now an important pilgrimage center) in Bihar, ending up in the streets of Calcutta, from where he was kidnapped by an arkathi and sent to British Guiana. Your grandfather was born under indentureship but was spared the horrors of that hateful system because Mahatma Gandhi and others forced the British to bring it to an end in 1917."

*******************

Rishi could vividly remember his unabated curiosity about his Nana as he prepared for his first visit to Guyana.

"Your nana got married in 1913. He was ten years old and your nannie was eight," his father had disclosed.

What? interjected Rishi and his sister in astonishment.

Indeed. Until recently, it was the practice for Indians to marry quite young. In fact, in India, marriage pacts were sometimes cemented by parents while the kids were still in diapers.

Are you kidding me! exclaimed Rishi.

"But, your grandfather was not satisfied with plantation life and after indentureship ended in 1917, he went after his dream. By then both his mother and father had died during an epidemic of malaria, and he had no other siblings, as his mother had two miscarriages due to being forced to do hard labor, while she was pregnant. Choosing to take land rather than return passage to India, your grandfather and his best friend, Jhangar, who was also his sarroboy, (husband of your nana’s wife’s sister) literally built Friendship Village with their bare hands."

Why that name? asked the lad.

"Well your nana and his friend were the first settlers. So they wanted the village to be a testimony to their friendship. They cleared the jungle, battled snakes, crossed swamps and trenches swarming with alligators and snakes and shared the land with tigers and mosquitos. His father chuckled. Your grandfather could tell you stories to match any wild-west adventure. He chuckled again. Do you know that he would not have been alive today but for a mentally disabled kid with a strange habit?"

Please tell, begged Rishi and his sister.

"Madho liked to tie all kinds of stuff and in fact, always carried pieces of strings in his pockets. He would attach the other end of the string to his waist and, pretending to drive a tractor, he would pull in forward or reverse gear as he pleased. Your grandfather liked his daru - locally made liquor brewed with molasses and fertilizers."

Bush rum, interjected Rishi.

"Uh hu. Once, when he was very drunk, your nana had fallen into a trench. Madho, who noticed the incident, quickly jumped in, tied him up and pulled him out of the trench. Then the lad ran towards the closest house, shouting, ‘Nana fall a trench,’ at the top of his voice. Nearby residents were able to quickly force the water out of your nana’s body and revive him."

*******************

Leaning back in the seat, Rishi reflected on the first time he had seen the old man. It was his sixth birthday celebration and he was told that it would be a big party and that a lot of people would be there. He could vividly recall the tall, white-haired man, with the bushy mustache, whom he and his siblings were told to call Nana (maternal grandfather). The