Stories Inspired by Thirukkural- Thirukkural A Day (TAD) - Chapter 2:3 - A Promise Broken | A Submarine Story

“When the clouds deceive, withholding the rain, famine stalks the earth.”

Rajamani never expected his job on the submarine to turn into a fight for survival. Thirty-six hours earlier, he boarded with a simple mission—install a magic oven. But when the vessel descended too deep, the pressure wasn’t just on the submarine—it was on him too.

As alarms blared and the lights flickered, the old Tamil verse echoed in his mind:

விண்இன்று பொய்ப்பின் விரிநீர் வியனுலகத்து உள்நின்று உடற்றும் பசி (If clouds that promised rain deceive, and in the sky remain, famine, sore torment, stalks o’er earth’s vast ocean-girdled plain.)

Can Rajamani complete his work and survive, or will the submarine betray them all—like rainclouds that never deliver?

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The script:

விண்இன்று பொய்ப்பின் விரிநீர் வியனுலகத்து

உள்நின்று உடற்றும் பசி

When the clouds deceive, withholding the rain, famine stalks the earth.

Have you ever made a promise that you failed to keep? What was the impact of that on others, and on yourself? How does it feel when someone breaks a promise to you?

“Dearest Lata, this may be the last letter I write to you, " Rajamani put the pen down wondering if it was his last hour.

Thirty-six hours earlier, Rajamani had entered a submarine and met his friend and chef, Mali. Unexpectedly, the submarine went underwater. Rajamani started working on the real job that he was hired to do on the sub, installing his magic oven. But, the sub had descended too deep.

Mali’s expression was grim. “We’re at the limit. If we go any deeper…”

விண்இன்று பொய்ப்பின் விரிநீர் வியனுலகத்து

உள்நின்று உடற்றும் பசி

When the clouds deceive, withholding the rain, famine stalks the earth.

The submarine groaned again, a deep, metallic sound that reverberated through the narrow corridors. The lights flickered many times, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Rajamani’s hands trembled as he tightened the last bolt on the oven, his fingers slick with sweat. The air felt heavier now, thicker, as if the weight of the ocean above was pressing down on them, squeezing the life out of the vessel.

He tried his best to keep his focus on the task at hand - installing the oven.

Mali stood by the counter, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a tense silence. He stirred a pot of soup, the aroma faint but comforting, though it did little to ease the growing tension. The crew moved about with hurried steps, their faces pale, their voices hushed. The submarine was at its limit, and everyone knew it.

Rajamani wiped his brow and glanced at the porthole. The darkness outside was absolute, a void that seemed to swallow all light and hope. He thought of the rain again, of the way it had promised life but now felt impossibly far away. The old Tamil verse echoed in his mind:

விண்இன்று பொய்ப்பின் விரிநீர் வியனுலகத்து

உள்நின்று உடற்றும் பசி.

If clouds that promised rain deceive, and in the sky remain, famine, sore torment, stalks o’er earth’s vast ocean-girdled plain.

The words felt hauntingly relevant. The submarine was like the clouds that had promised safety, but now, trapped in the depths, it felt like a betrayal. The crew’s hope was dwindling, and with it, their strength. Rajamani could see it in their eyes—the fear, the exhaustion, the gnawing hunger that went beyond the physical. It was a hunger for hope, for a way out, for the promise of life above.

Mali broke the silence, his voice low but steady. “Di soup a ready. Yuh know, ees not much, but ees somethin’.” He ladled the thin broth into bowls and handed one to Rajamani. “Tek eat yuh, ya’ve bie workin’ non-stop.”

Rajamani took the bowl, the warmth seeping into his hands. He sipped the soup, the flavor simple but nourishing. It reminded him of Sanji’s philosophy—that food was more than sustenance; it was a way to keep the spirit alive, even in the darkest times. “This is good,” he said quietly. “It’s like… a small piece of home. Sanji from One Piece would have said the same—no matter how bad things get, you don’t give up on feeding your crew.”

“Yuh had fi squeeze in a One Piece irrefren, " said Mali.

“Perils of being around an 8-year old obsessed with anime, besides the Luminous Literary Minds at Pune Writers Group asked me not to lecture them.”

Bowl in hand, Rajamani flicked the switch of the oven to make sure it was in working order, after all, that was part of his contract with the Captain.

The submarine shuddered violently, and the lights flickered again, this time staying dim for longer. An alarm blared, sharp and insistent, cutting through the silence. Rajamani set his bowl down, his heart racing. “What’s happening now?”

Mali’s face turned grim. “Wah gwaan? Wah happenin’ fi lose power yah? Yuh gotta come up pon de surface ‘fore t’ing get worsa.…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the implication was clear. The submarine was running out of time.

The red hot heating elements of the oven overheated and turned yellow hot.