partnership with Him . He would present all his doubts to God as if He were standing nearby to dispose of them . I would stare at Jallaluddin and then look towards the large groups of pilgrims around the temple , taking holy dips in the sea , performing rituals and reciting prayers with a sense of respect towards the same Unknown , whom we treat as the formless Almighty . I never doubted that the prayers in the temple reached the same destination as the ones offered in our mosque . I only wondered whether Jallaluddin had any other special connection to God . Jallaluddin ’ s schooling had been limited , principally because of his family ’ s straitened circumstances . This may have been the reason why he always encouraged me to excel in my studies and enjoyed my success vicariously . Never did I find the slightest trace of resentment in Jallaluddin for his deprivation . Rather , he was always full of gratitude for whatever life had chosen to give him .
Incidentally , at the time I speak of , he was the only person on the entire island who could write English . He wrote letters for almost anybody in need , be they letters of application or otherwise . Nobody of my acquaintance , either in my family or in the neighbourhood even had Jallaluddin ’ s level of education or any links of consequence with the outside world . Jallaluddin always spoke to me about educated people , of scientific discoveries , of contemporary literature , and of the achievements of medical science . It was he who made me aware of a “ brave , new world ” beyond our narrow confines .
In the humble environs of my boyhood , books were a scarce commodity . By local standards , however , the personal library of STR Manickam , a former ‘ revolutionary ’ or militant nationalist , was sizeable . He encouraged me to read all I could and I often visited his home to borrow books .
Another person who greatly influenced my boyhood was my first cousin , Samsuddin . He was the sole distributor for newspapers in Rameswaram . The newspapers would arrive at Rameswaram station by the morning train from Pamban . Samsuddin ’ s newspaper agency was a one-man organization catering to the reading demands of the 1,000- strong literate population of Rameswaram town . These newspapers were mainly bought to keep abreast of current developments in the National Independence Movement , for astrological reference or to check the bullion rates prevailing in Madras . A few readers with a more cosmopolitan outlook would discuss Hitler , Mahatma Gandhi and Jinnah ; almost all would finally flow into the mighty political current of Periyar EV Ramaswamy ’ s movement against high caste Hindus . Dinamani was the most sought after newspaper . Since reading the printed matter was beyond my capability , I had to satisfy myself with glancing at the pictures in the newspaper before Samsuddin delivered them to his customers .
The Second World War broke out in 1939 , when I was eight years old . For reasons I have never been able to understand , a sudden demand for tamarind seeds erupted in the market . I used to collect the seeds and sell them to a provision shop on Mosque Street . A day ’ s collection would fetch me the princely sum of one anna . Jallaluddin would tell me stories about the war which I would later attempt to trace in the headlines in Dinamani . Our area , being isolated , was completely unaffected by the war . But soon India was forced to join the Allied Forces and something like a state of emergency was declared . The first casualty came in the form of the suspension of the train halt at