Dharmaiah was having his coffee on a nippy November morning and reading the newspaper that had just been delivered—a day old Calcutta edition of The Statesman. The news of B D Jatti taking over as governor of Orissa caught his eye. It was a moment of pride for him and the four Kannadiga families of Santrapur. On Dharmaiah’s suggestion, they dashed off a letter to the governor expressing their wish to felicitate a fellow Kannadiga in Raj Bhavan. They were hopeful of hearing from him. The hope, albeit a faint one, was that Jatti would respond, even if negatively. And for a few days, the postman was the most-awaited visitor.
And then it arrived. A short typewritten letter from the governor’s office, thanking them for the letter and inviting them for coffee at the Raj Bhavan, two weeks hence. The families were excited. Of the four families, two were living as ‘married bachelors.”
Their families were away in their hometowns, a common practice for men to travel wherever their jobs took them while their families stayed on in their native. Of the five children from the remaining two families, the eldest was eight years old and given the honour of representing the children. Thus, it was decided that the four men and the eight-year-old would travel to
Raj Bhavan.
On D-Day, two cycle rickshaws took them to the city bus stand, and from there a city bus took them to Raj Bhavan. When they presented themselves at the gate of the Raj Bhavan, the security checked with the Raj Bhavan office and, after a small delay, called out Dharmaiah, Krishnaswamy, Narasimha Rao, Kulkarni, and Master Dharmaiah. The 8-year-old was thrilled at being called Master Dharmaiah.
An attendant led them down the road to the reception area and then into the quarters, where they were seated on a sofa, awaiting Jatti. He arrived within a few minutes. They were served coffee by the liveried staff of the Raj Bhavan. His wife also made a brief appearance and greeted the visitors. And all the while, Master Dharmaiah just kept gaping and gawking. The meeting concluded in exactly thirty minutes.
While the elders were all praises for the man and his humility, the eight-year-old was restless and wanted to know the status of the India-England cricket test match being played at Kotla. After some frantic searching, he met a man with a transistor listening to the running commentary, only to be told that the Tonys, Greig, and Lewis were firmly in control and that India would lose around Tea. And then AIR interrupted the commentary to convey another sad news: C Rajagopalachari, whose Ramayana and Mahabharata were among the first books that children read, had died at the age of 94.
Wisden and Wikipedia confirm that this memorable and eventful day for Master Dharmaiah Manjunath was Christmas of 1972; the conscientious Jatti had met us on a holiday!