Many years have passed since that fateful turn of events, covering Ranjan’s act of revenge and the atrocities committed in Jaffna. But even after Ranjan’s untimely death at the hand of a hired assassin, my mind kept mulling through the episode. One evening I slid to my antiques room in Singapore so as to discuss the matter with Tay Fung-Shuo – now replaced by his porcelain Doppelgänger, dubbed Alfie.
“So you do old antiques dealer honour of unexpected visit,” Alfie chided me.
“Honour, yes; unexpected, no!”
“So what can old antiques dealer do for you?”
“Ranjan problem,” I explained.
“But, my friend, why is problem?”
He listened patiently to my account. He then felt the need of probing. Pointing out I had appreciated the differences between Ranjan’s background and mine, why was I still puzzled by his act of revenge and by his being a party to the brutalities inflicted on hapless people in Jaffna? Why was I unable to accept that the cultural demarcation went deeper than I had anticipated?
“You also Asian, Mr. Tay. You think you can do?”
“No, my friend; and you know!”
“So why Ranjan?”
“I think veneer – façade like you say – not so deep?”
“European liberal façade?” I asked.
“Not so simple,” countered Tay. “European can also torture; also throw acid; and Chinese can.”
“But what you mean, Mr. Tay. You speak riddle this time!”
“No, Peter,” countered Tay in plain English. “I mean the façade of civil behaviour. Ranjan knew he was being unjust and uncivilised on both occasions. But his ego got the better of him.”
Alfie’s had hit the nail on its head. Throughout their school days and their succeeding years of social and cultural adjustments people get over the egotistic (self-centred) ‘I,’ ingrained in everybody by the survival instinct. Unfortunately, in extreme moments of sufferings – leading to fits of poorly camouflaged rage – suppressed feelings break lose and temper takes control driving a person to an irrational act of aggression or violence; and there is no way back.
Ranjan’s course was dictated when he carried out his senseless act of vengeance. From that moment on, hoods like the incumbent President gained a stranglehold over him. Ranjan’s survival instinct left him no option but to take orders. The acid thrower – who had obeyed a base instinctive call of his ego – had to toe the line prescribed by the President, who could destroy Ranjan by withdrawing the political protection conferred on my erring friend.
“Karma?” I asked Alfie.
“Not so,” he reverted to our slang. “Is what you call cause and effect!”
“So, the sufferings of the Jaffna Tamils were – in a way – his sufferings?”
“Maybe,” nodded Alfie. “But ‘conscience’ – feelings for other people – not your friend Ranjan’s strong point.”
It was the civilised man’s verdict of a barbarian. In a way, Alfie’s kaleidoscope moved the coloured glass pieces – the pieces of a jigsaw – more adroitly than mine. All in all, our conclusions were similar. Ranjan had laid the foundation for his own human downfall when he stepped off the trodden path.
“Thank you, Mr. Tay,” I told my porcelain friend. “You make me see things clear.”
“Not so,” he summed up. “Perhaps I help you focus. But you not blind; and you know!”