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Even as the evening clouds turned dark, the sky didn’t open on Monday, July 21, when a crowd began to swell outside the AKG Centre in Thiruvananthapuram. An unusual order prevailed on the ground when thousands gathered around the small stretch of road, and even the rains stayed away for hours on end. The first roar went up at the sight of the hearse from far ahead — “Kanne karale VS-eh” — Our beloved VS. A cry that went on for several minutes, echoed with the unmistakable spirit of comradeship.
Late in the afternoon, the news that many of them had feared appeared in tickers and then in larger, detailed reports: VS Achuthanandan, the 101 year old veteran of the Communist Party of India (Marxist), has passed away. Too many feathers were on his cap — one of the most outspoken Chief Ministers of Kerala, the inimitable leader who had trodden the admirable path of growing to the heights from the grassroots, and created history when he joined the men who walked away from the parent Communist party and formed the CPI(M). He was the last living member of the original 32 who created the CPI(M).
“He would stand the tallest among all the Communist leaders in Kerala. In all the 101 years of his life, he had never once tainted his image even with a single allegation of corruption. All the emotion that you see here comes from the impact he has created deep in the minds of people, one that is beyond politics. He had given his best and every success he could to his organisation and for his homeland. He was a true model, a phenomenon,” said Murukesan, a retired government official, standing at the end of a serpentine line, waiting to see VS for one last time.
Gopinathan, another retired government employee, said, “For many of us, VS has been our conscience. Even in the years we have had doubts about the Communist ideology, he was always a ray of hope. We never saw him compromise on his values. Even when he was in power, he spoke like he was still one of us.”
The picture on the ground was one to marvel at — how discipline could fall on a vast and unexpected crowd of people, simply out of respect for the occasion. A girl no more than five or six sat on someone’s shoulders, peering over the crowd — wide-eyed, quiet, taking in a moment far bigger than her. Around her, people stood shoulder to shoulder, loudly shouting slogans.
“Inquilab Zindabad!” “Comrade VS will never die!” “Who said he will die? He lives through us. Through the blood that flows through us.”
A line of red volunteers and police personnel stood on the edges to bring order. But like a switch went on, the assembled parted ways to create a path for VS’ hearse, planked by police vans and the car of Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan. The CM stood at the entrance of the AKG hall, alongside MA Baby, the General Secretary of the CPI(M), waiting for VS to be fetched to his party office where his voice had rung loud and clear for years on end.
At the edge of the gathering, CPI(M)’s Punnapra branch secretary N Babu stood quietly, eyes fixed on the gate. To him, VS was more than a leader, he was almost mythic. The stories of VS’s role in the Punnapra Vayalar uprising, of his arrest and brutal torture, left a deep mark on Babu long before he understood politics.
The Punnapra-Vayalar uprising in 1946 was a turning point in Kerala’s radical politics — a Communist-led revolt by peasants, coir workers, and fishermen against the Dewan of Travancore, CP Ramaswamy Iyer. Pushed to the brink by famine, exploitative land laws, and the Dewan’s call for an independent pro-American Travancore, workers rose in armed protest. The revolt began in Punnapra and ended in Vayalar, leaving hundreds dead in brutal crackdowns. VS, then a young party worker, was beaten and left for dead — but survived.
“I wasn’t even born when Punnapra Vayalar happened,” he said. “But as a child, I grew up hearing how VS was arrested, how he was beaten, how he never gave in. Those stories shaped me. They made me believe in the ideology. Made me want to stand for something. For us in Punnapra, he wasn’t just a leader — he was living history.”
Leaders appeared to become one with the crowd, Pannyan Ravindran, the CPI leader walking in from a corner, and Thomas Isaac, another CPI(M) leader merging in without hassle. Age gaps disappeared as the young and old braved the cold and stood in patience.
“I am here because my parents, who are both strong followers of Communism, could not be. I grew up in Wayanad, witnessing and imbibing their spirit. VS is an emotion for us,” said Sherin, a teacher.
Leela, a sanitation worker in Thiruvananthapuram, said: “He lived a hundred and one years because he lived right. That kind of life, it gives back to you.”
Hearths passed above heads, badges paying tribute were pinned on shirts and saris, and banners bidding adieu to VS tied up. Above, in a pole, VS looked down with his unwavering smile from a cherished photo, as bits of his old speech played on someone’s phone: “There is no Christian blood or Hindu blood or Muslim blood in us, what runs in us is the blood of humans.”