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