C H A P T E R 14

WORK IS STRUGGLE

Chacko took the shortcut through the tilting rubber trees so that he

would have to walk only a very short stretch down the main road to

Comrade K. N. M. Pillai’s house. He looked faintly absurd, stepping

over the carpet of dry leaves in his tight airport suit, his tie blown

over his shoulder.

Comrade Pillai wasn’t in when Chacko arrived. His wife, Kalyani,

with fresh sandalwood paste on her forehead, made him sit down on

a steel folding chair in their small front room and disappeared

through the bright pink, nylon-lace curtained doorway into a dark

adjoining room, where the small ɻame from a large brass oil lamp

ɻickered. The cloying smell of incense drifted through the doorway,

over which a small wooden placard said Work is Struggle. Struggle is

Work.

Chacko was too big for the room. The blue