A day when it was Pournami…

It was Pournami. It was the day when the Moon cared to show its milky face in full. Anantapadmanabhan stood at the entrance of his house and kept gazing at the full moon. Accompanying the Moon that day, as ever, were the stars strewn all around the dark envelope which had engulfed the city. A thin cloud passed and watching it move without even winking his eye, Anant felt as if he was the one moving and not the clouds. He felt as if he was being swayed sideways by some mysterious force; a phenomenon too hard to describe and too easy to cherish. All that one had to do was to tilt one’s eyes towards the sky and keep it that way until the moment of drift occurred, he thought. Just when he felt the gravity part from him, he dazed when his son placed a hand on his shoulder. The lightness of the moment had given way to an unbearable heaviness which made Anant draw a deep breath. He turned around and walked back into the house holding his son’s hand on the right and a walking stick on the left. All the attendees of the evening, who had come from near and far to pay their last respects to Mrs. Poornima Anantapadmanabhan turned their heads in unison towards the bereaved father and son as they walked past the veranda. Anant tried his best not to catch any of them directly in the eye as he entered the hall where his wife had been laid on the floor. With much difficulty and his son’s assistance, Anant sat on the floor next to the corpse. Guests kept pouring into the household and all of them duly held Anant’s hand or patted his shoulder and empathised with the loss. And all the while Anant nodded, in understanding half the time and absent minded the rest of the time. His eye was caught by the transmuted figure lying next to him which in the past sixty six years had displayed extraordinary resilience to any change.
Meanwhile, the next door friendly neighbours, Mrs. and Mr. Sridhar, had prepared coffee and served it to all the guests. And when the time for proceeding to the graveyard had arrived, Anant chose to take the long walk to the graveyard instead of a drive in the hospital van on whose rear side Poornima was placed. She was draped in a sari which was all wet and had blotches of turmeric. Garlands were placed around her, the ones very similar to the one she wore on the day of their marriage. They reached the graveyard an hour and fifteen minutes later. Holy verses were recited by the vaadiyar to make Poornima’s journey to heaven a peaceful one and to make her invisible to the eyes of Yama. In the mean time the undertaker, had piled up logs of wood above which the body was placed. Anant watched his son walk around the pyre three times, sprinkle water and ghee and set fire on her to complete the rites of the evening. Anant walked back to his home and lay on the easy chair with his eyes closed.
By the time he opened his eyes again, he strained his eyes through the darkness to find objects and his sleeping son on the floor, followed by eleven chimes of the clock. The smell of burnt dung and dry grass and spent camphor from the evening still hung around the house. Memories of the day and the dreams which had haunted his sleep came back to him. The last dream, which literally made him jump from the chair, was a minute by minute representation of the day starting from the time he woke up, he bathed and read the morning newspaper, he had lunch in the dining table with Poornima who served him hot rice and sambar, he heard a little gasp from Poornima followed by a fall to the floor, he placed his hand on Poornima’s chest and traced for a heart beat, he beat her chest in an attempt to revitalise her heart, he lay her head on his lap and yelled her name for the last time, to the moment when Poornima’s last visible portion of her body, her face, was closed and fire was placed on the body which leapt around her with all its wickedness consuming her. He shuddered for a moment recalling the dream and held his hand against the chair for support. The lucidity of the dream surprised him entirely. There was no haziness in the vision which is predominantly associated with a dream. He wished he had dreamt of the day when he was born or the day when his only son Aryan was born after nine years of marriage or even the day of his marriage.
It was an arranged marriage. Not that Anant had a choice in this regard, given that his father, Sathyanandam, who was the then City Head Constable of Madras while the country was still under the British Raj, had decided that Poornima would be the one to hold Anant’s hand on the destined date, and in the days to come, and enter the house placing her right leg first. Sathyanandam had received the horoscope of Poornima through a family friend a week earlier. On consultation with the family astrologer it was clear to him that he would not be able to find a better match for the then twenty year old Anant. Anant’s father accompanied by his youngest son, Balaraman, had gone to meet Poornima’s parents. On coming back home after the visit, Sathyanandam stood at the entrance and broadcasted the imminent news to the household even before wiping his slippers on the doormat. Anant, all curious about how Poornima looked like, took Balaraman to the terrace in stealth. Balaraman divulged details of his to-be sister-in-law’s feminine beauty to his elder brother at the price of two servings of idli and sambar at Swaminathan Cafe. On hearing his brother’s description, Anant dismissed it saying it was all fitting only for a beauty queen and not for his better half, only to be disproved on the day of the wedding. The moment Poornima walked onto the stage, Anant could see how his brother’s observations were so befitting. And without his knowing, Anant had kept his mouth open for too long a time to allow a drip of saliva to seep through. Annoyed by his son’s inappropriate behaviour, Sathyanandam pinched his son on his lap while keeping a smiling face towards the audience. Balaraman ran to the stage with a hand towel and wiped Anant’s face and his back in the pretext of cooling off the groom from the pyre. Poornima’s father, Sankara Narayanan, a devout Hindu, was not appreciative of his son-in-law’s mesmerised gaze towards his daughter and threw a quick angry glance at Anant. His anger was subsided and turned into a blush the minute Mrs. Sankara Narayanan reminded the way he reacted the first time he laid his eyes on her.
Sathyanandam wished his children would follow his footsteps and enter the police force. Given his designation, Sathyanandam was an important man in the city and was thus quite influential too. He had established contacts with the then British Viceroys and Mayors. While Anant and Balaraman were in school, Sathyanandam wished he could send both of them to England for further studies. But, he had to give up this plan due to repeated protests and wailings from his wife, who was convinced that the brothers would end up embracing English culture and settle in England with fair skinned whores. Not wanting to turn this fancy into truism, Sathyanandam ditched his British dreams and replaced them with his son’s taking the mantle from him and safeguard the city of Madras. He nurtured the dream so rigorously that he was almost convinced that his son’s wore police uniform to school, the only similarity in them being the Khaki material. And when Anant declared his desire to be a journalist for a radical outfit propagating the idea of freedom and of an India free from the British rule, Sathyanandam was left shattered. He tried his best to persuade Anant but in vain. In a fit of obstinacy to realize his dream and in the greater good of saving his son, he investigated into the details of the radical press for which Anant was working and laid everyone in the press under arrest in a swift midnight raid, including his son. Realizing his father’s potential to twist his fate, Anant applied for the job of a city constable and submitted to his father’s will. No wonder when he received the job with ease. Once in the job, promotions were a regular feature every year with letters sent from the Head Office, with his father’s seal in it. Meanwhile, two years after Anant’s marriage, Balaraman was taken in by Gandhi’s Quit India Movement and enrolled himself in Indian National Congress. He wrote a parting letter to his father and fled home on a Tuesday night only to return to Madras after thirteen years as the Treasurer of the party.
On the day of her wedding, Poornima was seventeen years and nineteen days old. She was raised in a conservative family in the Kanchipuram district. Her aunt Krishnaveni, Sankara Narayanan’s younger sister, took a special fondness to her. Krishnaveni was married a year earlier, but a fatal accident ended it a week later. Krishnaveni raised Poornima as her own; feeding, cleaning, playing, teaching and even sang lullabies in the night to make Poornima sleep. She held Poornima close to her all the time and never allowed her grip to fail even for relatives who had come to see the new born. And gradually the intimacy between the child and her aunt grew to the levels of a mother and daughter. Their day would typically begin with the two going to the gardens of the nearby Lord Krishna temple where they would pick flowers and thread them together to prepare garlands for the Lord. They would then sit through sessions of Shlokas and recitations of sacred scripts and bhajans. They would come back home to prepare lunch. This is when Krishnaveni taught Poornima the art of culinary preparations and serving. Poornima was quick to grasp all the tiny detailing involved in the art and by the time she was ten years old, she took over the responsibility of kitchen handling from her mother much to her father’s delight. Sankara Narayanan took pride in praising his daughter’s achievements in the household chores in front of all his guests and Mrs. Sankara Narayanan would listen to his eulogy in equal admiration.
His daughter’s faith and discipline came at a heavy price to Sankara Narayanan the day he declared the news of having found a suitor for Poornima. Poornima declared that she wouldn’t part her heart and soul with another man. Stunned by the revelation, Sankara Narayanan urged Poornima to name the man who had fondled his daughter’s heart in secrecy. Aunt Krishnaveni was immediately accused of having polluted the child’s brain with thoughts of love and fidelity and had secretly nurtured the affair to grow, but Poornima cleared the accusations taking the fault (onus?) on her own. Nevertheless, Krishnaveni who had raised the child was found at fault and was evicted from the house to an ashram on Sankara Narayanan’s command. When Poornima declared that the man under questioning was Lord Krishna himself, Sankara Narayanan had no other option but to contemplate jumping into the nearby well. Mrs. Sankara Narayanan made her clear intentions not to follow her husband into the well and chose to live in shame and widowed the rest of her life. Sankara Narayanan found no solace even after much furore and intense sessions of therapeutic and psychic healing to cure his daughter of platonic love for the Lord. Unhappiness drove Sankara Narayanan to consume alcohol and one day in his inebriated state, he entered home and chased his wife all around the house with a walking stick in hand for having given birth to such a disgraced daughter. No more tolerant to such acts and to end the family misery, Poornima willed to do what was willed out of her. But none knew the will would last only for the day of marriage and not any further.
And when the knowledge of Poornima’s love for a being with whom Anant could not even argue or contest with dawned on him, he sat on the floor choking childish tears in his eyes while Poornima had drifted to sleep on the bed of their wedding night. The next morning when his friends enquired about last night with animated curiosity, tears of sorrow welled up his eyes again which were mistaken by his friends of those of bliss. Days passed for Anant in the police station with him having to do nothing except for signing papers. The bitterness of his night life rendered him incapable of placing his pen on the portion of the paper for signing. And Anant’s signature ran across the page of an important document, Sathyanandam understood that there were things at home which more than what met his eyes. On their way back home, Sathyanandam brought up the topic of Anant’s well being to him as a casual remark. Unable to contain the sadness to himself he confessed the truth of his marriage life to his father. Sathyanandam, furious at first, calmed down later and said a resolution would be sought. He went over to the Sankara Narayanan household in Kanchipuram and questioned whether Poornima’s condition was known before. Sankara Narayanan threw himself at Sathyanandam’s feet and sought apology for not having declared it earlier and requested him to not send his daughter back home. Sathyanandam clarified that it was not in his intentions to do so and had paid the visit to know the cure to Poornima’s obsession, if any. Put simply, what had the Sankara Narayanan done before to submit their daughter to marriage? Not happy with the response he got, Sathyanandam came back to Madras a dejected man. Blackmail and coercion were means to bring out the truth from criminals and did not sound befitting a treatment for a daughter in law, he thought. He kept the affair to himself until the time Mrs. Sathyanandam doubted her husband for trying to hide something from her and enquired whether it had anything to do with the reason why she had not heard even a creak of the bed their son in one whole year. Sathyanandam immediately dismissed his wife’s notions with a raise of his hand. He neither took blame for his son’s plight nor adopted any methods to end his son’s misery. In moments when doubts and sadness crept in, he ran the image of his family astrologer’s first reaction after having compared Anant’s and Poornima’s horoscopes.
One night, Sathyanandam dreamt of the day when he had gone to meet the astrologer with Anant’s horoscope in hand and this time around the glee had turned to sourness on the face of the astrologer. But, Anant’s marriage is arranged eventually due to uncontrolled circumstances, only to turn the prophecy of the astrologer true. He was now in his house and turned around to stare at the lacrimation of its inhabitants. Balaraman stood at the doorway and refuses to enter despite his father’s repeated protests. Without a goodbye or a wave of the hand Balaraman turned back and walked away. Sathyanandam ran outside to call his son back only to find himself now at the purgatory and around him were the multi headed demons dancing to devilish tunes. At a distance were the Trio: Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. Now they turned their backs too and are walking away from him too leaving him at the mercy of the buffalo riding Yama. The very same night, Sathyanandam passed away in his sleep. Three months later, his wife followed suit.
After his parents’ demise, Anant had the entire house to himself. The property was registered under his name with the registrar approving the same. But as irony would have it, his bridal property had her own ways at the house which made him feel desolated with every passing day. He did not try to mend his or her ways. He just let her be whom she imagined (wanted) to be. One night he woke up in the middle of the night to have a glass of water and that’s when the ghost of Poornima walked right past him. She wore of white sari and had vermillion marks on her forehead and her palms were joined in unison and the name of Lord Krishna was heard in a soft murmur.
They lived in two separate rooms, Anant opting out of his room and occupied his father’s room. Along with the books, dresses and pictures of Gods, his father had left his own self in the room and Anant smelt his presence for a long time. It was almost after a year that Anant felt that the sensation had gone and rejoiced in the thought that his father had finally decided take abode in heaven and leave matters of the lesser mortals with him.
Poornima, in spite of her stand as a servant to the Lord, still woke up early in the morning and prepared dishes for Anant. She would press his clothes and place them neatly in his cupboard. She would wake him in days when he was late asleep. And on his return from office, would welcome him with hot coffee. This confused Anant as he had expected quite the contrary. At times he even felt he was being tested by his new wife. Maybe she is trying to measure me up, see if I become a drunkard and an abusive husband, he wondered. But one step inside her territory would lead to one raised eyebrow and unusual redness of her eyes and nose. One step back again and there would be godliness in her. Over time, Anant ruled out all these quirky possibilities and continues to live his pseudo bachelorhood (or was it a pseudo marriage?).
Work progressed for him in snail’s pace until one day when Ramanatha Mudaliar, the successor of Sathyanandam, came up to him and said there was a play to be presented in front of the visiting Viceroy on behalf of the police force, as a sign of friendly gesture. And Anant with his boyish good looks must play the lead role. Anant was stunned to have been requested with such an offer. Didn’t quite expect his job description would entail acting too. (It was known much later to him that Sathyanandam had entrusted this responsibility upon himself when he was at the helm) Anant immediately agreed and in the evening the rehearsals began. It was then Anant came to know that the play was on Krishna and Sudhama, and he was to play Krishna. It isn’t you Poornima, I’m sorry; it isn’t you who is testing me. It’s the Lord. And I’m failing miserably. The request had been placed from the highest authority and turning it down will end up with his name outside the good books, Anant realized. He attended the rehearsals and delivered his lines in awful distaste, which was rude shock to the organizers who had expected much better from Sathyanandam Jr. Knowing Poornima would laugh or even mock him on hearing the news, Anant decided he wouldn’t disclose that he was to play the part of his nemesis. It was midnight when the rehearsal got over and while he entered the house Poornima wasn’t there to greet him. She must have gone to sleep he guessed. He opened her door stealthily to find her hidden under the bed sheet completely. He closed the door which now let out a slow creak. Anant darted to his room and waited at his door to see if Poornima came behind with those red eyes. No sign of her, he went and let himself lay on bed.
Early morning rehearsals were scheduled for the play and Anant left his home an hour before his regular time. He noticed it was also the first day that he woke up before Poornima did. He patted himself for this minor achievement but had neither the time nor the courtesy to prepare something for her. The rehearsals went well into the time of lunch and post-lunch a dress rehearsal was done in front of Mudaliar, who at the end of it applauded and urged Anant to get into the skin of the character while performing in the evening. Anant wished to say he didn’t wish to, but kept his opinion to himself. And in the evening when the play was performed the Viceroy stood on his bare feet and applauded for full five minutes. He stopped only after Anant, who couldn’t bow himself any longer, erected himself and requested the Viceroy to have his seat, much to the annoyance of Mudaliar.
A seething fever had afflicted Poornima the night before. She felt her entire body go heavy and found it immensely painful to even lift her hand or call out her beloved’s name. She lay on her bed and tried her best to drift to sleep but her head felt as if being loaded with hundred bricks. Moving from one end of the bed to other, she found no position comfortable. And when sleep finally arrived, dreams caught up with her, rendering her unable to bear the pain any longer. She was in the garden with Krishnaveni plucking flowers when a divine voice led them to the temple. Krishnaveni led the way and entered the sanctum first. A hand held out from the sanctum and Krishnaveni placed her palm on it and next instant she was gone. Poornima followed next gladly for her turn to be sucked into the realm of the Lord and to be placed at his feet. But the sanctum held out no hand this time. The gates of the sanctum behind her closed and the ground beneath her gave away. She then passed through a labyrinth of woods and waded through the waters until she stood in the middle of a room and there stood a man with a smile that pierced through heart like a dagger. He inched his way closer and closer to her and allowed his hand to catch hold of the end of her sari. A loud eruption of incoherent noises filled the room and she made one of her own. The sari seemed to slip away from here despite her best efforts and she could do nothing except to wail and call for her saviour. Her eyes hunted for him around the room but there were no one who willed to step forward and put an end to this disgrace. When there wasn’t much of sari left, her eyes finally spotted the appearance of a man, whose sky blue toned body could not be mistaken for any mortal. He called out her name. She rushed towards him with her hands outstretched and eyes filled with tears. And he spread his arms to her and took her completely in him. Why did you do this to me, she questioned. Why was made a Draupadi when all I wanted was to be your Meera and sing in your praise. The blue man didn’t answer but continued to comfort her. She lifted her off her feet and placed her in a bed of lilies. He then placed his gentle hands on her and ran them on her forehead. The heaviness of the head seemed to part and gave way to a sleep so deep no mariner could fathom. She wanted to sing for him as she has done all these years and hold him closer to her than ever before. But the transition from heaven to hell and back to heaven had taken a toll on her which sleep alone could help in restoring normalcy. She would wake up and serve the Lord and provide renditions that would keep the Lord afloat for ever and ever and ever, she thought.
Anant had a hard time removing the make up after the evening’s show. The blue paint did not seem to part ways with him. Mudaliar suggested that coconut oil was the best solvent and came forward to hitch hike Anant in his car. Having no option left, he got onto the car with the full make up on as it seemed weird to be wearing a khaki dress with blue paint all over him. He arrived at his home and found the house in the same shape as it was in the morning. Dry grasses lay strewn in the entrance. Poornima wouldn’t have left them here like this he wondered. He noticed a curious look from his neighbour Pandurangan. Mistaking it for his costume, Anant went on to describe the function at his office today. No no, it’s your wife sir. She’s been sick I guess, didn’t notice her all day long. The door has remained closed since then time you left.
Anant dropped his bag and ran inside the house. He noticed Poornima standing outside her room. He heaved a sigh of relief. But something was unusual about her tonight. There was sweat on her forehead and her eyes looked tired. And she seemed to look around for something. Or maybe someone, he thought. He called out her name and moved slowly towards her. Her eyes finally fell on his and she came rushing forward, hugged him and said “Why did you do this to me? Why was made a Draupadi when all I wanted was to be your Meera and sing in your praise?” Finding no answer to her question, he remained silent. He hugged for the first time that night. Or rightly, he was allowed to lay his hand on her for the first time in two years. He took her to his bed and tended to her all night. He drenched a hand towel in cool water and placed it on her forehead to ease the high fever. He knew she had been dreaming. The thought that the dream would be over tonight and tomorrow everything would go back to normal made his tongue go dry. She could even admonish him for having taken advantage of her state and used it to his favour. Or even think his costume was a mockery of her belief. A million other possibilities ran through his head. But he put all those thoughts to an end and lay next to her in his (their?) bed. He feebly placed his palm over her hand and made sure her eyebrows didn’t flinch due to it. He just lay there watching her rest and without his knowing he too drifted into the unknown.
Early morning light had chased darkness away and the first beam of the light had trickled into the bedroom. The cycle bell of the milkman which served as an alarm for the entire colony rang in Anant’s ears and his eyes opened a second later. And in front of him lay Poornima with her hands crossed over her face. He gently ran his fingers up her neck and found that the fever had gone. He then tip toed to the door and gently opened it. And as he moved across a reflection of his blue self ran across the cupboard mirror. He darted to the kitchen and found the coconut oil bottle and then proceeded to the bath room to cleanse him of all the paint. He came out and headed straight back to the kitchen to prepare tea.
Anant moved the bedroom door to see Poornima sitting on the bed and locking her hair, when he expected her to be still asleep. Words didn’t easily flow out of him. Fear caught his tongue unawares and kept twisting and turning his tongue in ridiculous manners. He waited for clarity to settle in his thoughts which took its own time. He blurted out two incoherent sentences and later put an end to his misery by blocking his mouth with his hands. Summoning up his courage a few moments later, he declared that tea was ready in the kitchen to be consumed. As Poornima rose from the bed and adjusted her sari, he fumbled the events of last night in an even more inordinate manner. And all the while his clenched his fists and his body had turned stiff. If Poornima were to walk right up to him and given him a tight slap, he would have taken it with no protest. She did walk up to him that morning and Anant stood like a soldier who was ready to take orders from his General. But she stood in front of him and put a gentle smile. Anant strained a smile in return. He noticed that the eyes weren’t red but were like two goldfish pots. I finally put a real face to the Lord last night didn’t I, she said. Anant, no good at answering questions as evidenced last night, wondered if this might be a veiled tricky question. I didn’t hold you with any wrong intentions Poornima and the make up were for my office play, not intentional and it needed coconut oil to come off and that’s why I came like that, he recited his prepared speech. His breathing was still heavy when Poornima took his hand into hers .Anant felt a rush, a sensation of happiness which had evaded him for so long a time. He stood silent. He knew he had been asked a question but felt no necessity to answer as his prayers had been finally answered. Let me bring your tea she said. He nodded in agreement and gave way for her to move past the door.
The days that followed were filled with joy for the couple and their son Aryan was the measure of this joy. Balaraman, who had now become a senior journalist with a reputed national newspaper, also joined with them and he chose to remain a bachelor for the rest of his life. He took Aryan as his own, helped him with his home work and played cricket with him in the evenings. Aryan fared in his studies pretty well and went on to pursue his dream of being journalist in Delhi. Anant attributed this behaviour to be a genetic pass on from mother to son but kept the observation to himself fearing reproach. Around six months earlier to today, Poornima complained of chest pains and Anant rushed her to the hospital in an auto rickshaw. The diagnosis spelt heart attack. She was discharged the same day from the hospital and was prescribed heavy dosage of medicines. But she continued to feel the murmur of the chest and last month the pain had intensified to levels which convinced Poornima that she wasn’t going to last any longer. Anant dismissed her fears, but Poornima’s conviction over rode his optimism and Anant ended up spilling tears in the hospital toilet in secrecy. Poornima noticing the welled up eyes of Anant on his return from the loo urged him not to act like a baby and be a man to his wife. When a person dies it doesn’t mean they are off for ever. They become a star and watch over their loved ones as long as they live. And when their time to pass on comes, the star fades and provides space for the next new star to come by and occupy their place. She then went ahead and placed a request to Anant which he hadn’t anticipated in his wildest imagination. You’ve given me a good life and everything I could ask for. But I do have one last thing to ask you though. Do you remember the night when I was sick and you came in to take care of me, our first day together, or rather night? Do you remember what you wore? Will you wear that again for me tonight? I do know where it is, second row of the brown cupboard in Aryan’s room.
In all the years together there was nothing Poornima had asked for. Not even slippers when the sole of the old ones had rotten away. Not a toothbrush when the bristles of the old brush had torn away. Not a sari when the old ones had faded away. But now a wish from her probable death bed which he so wished it wasn’t.
He visited a dozen Krishna temples in the city that evening.
Night had arrived and Anant arrived at the hospital with two bags rather than the usual one. He entered the room and saw Poornima lying on the bed with her eyes open. He opened the bag containing the dinner. He had prepared idli for tonight. Once dinner was over, Anant washed his and her hands using the water bottle.
The nurses arrived and performed their routine check for pulse rate. And when they had left, Anant followed and bolted the door. He then proceeded to unzip his second bag, drew its contents out and proceeded to the rest room while switching off the tube light of the room. He undressed and first applied the blue paint he bought on his way from the hospital to home that evening, on his face, hands and neck. He waited for about ten minutes for the paint to dry before he then wore the turban, the rubber garland and the dhoti. It took about half an hour when he was ready to emerge outside and when he did, he saw Poornima sitting on the bed. He saw her eyes satiate at his appearance and her hands outstretch to welcome him. Anant moved towards the bed and hugged her gently. My Lord is here she said slowly. Anant didn’t speak a word and let his hands caress her hands and they both waded to sleep in unison.
The clock chimed one time when Anant woke again from his sleep. The stench of the evening was yet to leave. Aryan was still at the end of the hall, cuddled under the cold. Anant drew a blanket from his bed and spread it over him. He then proceeded to his drawing room where lay the bag containing the Krishna costumes.
Anant stood outside the gate of his house and looked up at all the stars of the night. He surveyed each one of them. Clouds passed and Anant blew air from his mouth and waved his hands sporadically to shoo them away. A shooting star just happened to pass by. He raised his hand and said there she is. Here I am Poornima. I can see you go. Do you see me? Do you see the blue lines on my face? I sure can see you up there. The moon shone in full face that night. It was Pournami.


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