It was pointless though. Outside my bedroom door there
was a commotion building steadily. I heard feet running up and down the
corridor, raised voices, a door slam.
I pressed my hands to my ears, praying I could be
transported elsewhere, cursing myself for interfering in things that always got
me into trouble. It seemed I had no instinct for self-preservation.
While all these thoughts ran through my head, the
electricity went off. I heard the fan creak to a stop and, when I could no
longer take the heat and suffocation threw off the sheet to suck air into my
lungs and cool my sweating face and body.
I had the fright of my life. Sarayumama was leaning over me, looking ready to kill me.
She bared her teeth and grabbed my shoulders
in a vice-like grip, shaking me and screaming in my face about sins and crimes,
her first-born baby, and etc, etc. I lost track because my brain hit my cranium
too many times, and aimed only to get away from the spray of spittle from my
aunt’s mouth.
Sarayumama suddenly let go and I fell backwards,
hitting my head against the teak headrest of the bed. It hurt like hell but I
stayed frozen, frightened to my core. When the haze lifted, I noticed my
parents in the room and there was a babble.
But Sarayumama wasn’t done with me. She dug her short
stubby red-painted nails into my shoulder and tried to tear out flesh. I pushed
her hands away with effort. This enraged her more and she grabbed fistfuls of
my nighty and hauled me off the bed. I tried my best to land on my feet.
“SARAYU!”
My
aunt’s hands became limp and I staggered back, my nightdress bunched up under
my chin. I pulled it down, feeling conscious of my bare thighs and the family
that had now grouped in the room and outside the bedroom door. I saw my cousins
peeping in, mostly curious, fearful and… pitying.
“I told you I would deal with them,” Appachan
(grandfather) said.
“She has been targeting my children since we came
here.”
My grandfather took a slow deep breath, his eyes
behind his glasses moving with exasperation from his older daughter to me.
“Look at her size and look at your sons!” Amma said.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Appa’s head turn in her direction, immediately
quieting her.
Appachan turned to look at my mother, and she lowered
her head. He turned back. “Brush your teeth, eat your breakfast, and then come
to my study.”
My chest squeezed. “W-why?”
A fist slammed the side of my head, and I staggered
sideways. The room swung around me and I fell to the floor. Arms grabbed me,
but I was conscious only of pain in the side of my head and face and the back
of my head where the headrest had hit me. My mother was crying and my father
was furious and standing with his arms spread wide in front of me, shouting.
When I felt my head steady somewhat people had swarmed
into the room and Sarayumama was being hustled out of the door with difficulty
by her siblings Sarojmama and Joychyan. My grandfather waved his cane about,
roaring furiously at no one in particular, and my cousins Rita and Roma
avoiding his cane came rushing to me.
I breathed slowly and kept my eyes closed, lying still
on the floor to stop my head from spinning.
******
I cried in the toilet while I brushed my teeth. And
then I raged at the memory of my aunt punching me. In the scarred bathroom
window, the bruise on my cheekbone was turning maroon.
When I sat at the dining table, I could see my father,
his siblings and their spouses standing uncomfortably in my grandfather’s
study. The door leading from the study into the dining room was ajar and I sat
as far away from it as possible. There was a steady whine, mostly by Sarayumama
and her husband Mathanchyan.
I drank the cup of tea Elsa Aunty, Joychyan’s wife,
gave me. She stroked my head gently and told me not to be afraid and put a
couple of idlis on my plate. I cried some more. Rita put her arms around me and
I felt her face wet against mine.
When Elsa Aunty went into the kitchen. Roma grabbed my
chin, lifted the edge of her kurta and scrubbed my face dry. “Don’t let her hit
you again! Jump out of the way. What got into you, didn’t you see it coming?”
“No.”
Despite being our aunt, Sarayumama had sometimes hit
us when we were children. She prized the boys, especially her sons. The girls
annoyed her. Her irritation increased whenever she saw her father return from
his errands. His granddaughters would race to the gate to open it, even though
the car was still about a half a kilometre away. They would mass around his
car, opening the door for him, opening all the car doors and pulling out and
carrying the packages into the house. The girls chattered all at once. The
younger girls’ hands would be in his juba pockets, emptying it of loose
change. Then he would open his wallet and pull out a large wad of
low-denomination notes – notes he had especially arranged for at the market –
and hand them out to the girls. He made a big production of looking through all
the bags of groceries and then would go back to his car and carry back a large
bag of toffees. There was usually a lot of laughter then, and all his
granddaughters would sit around him, or on him, listening to how his day went.
The older folks would sometimes leave their work to come and watch. Sometimes
Appachan’s brother would come along, and he would call us his “little
happinesses”.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
Roma pursed her lips. Rita’s small hands turned my
face towards her. “Sarayumama said you and Sarahchechi beat Mobbychacha with a
cricket bat.”
I was shocked. The tea I had just sipped went up my
nose and I coughed into my sleeve. Roma beat my back and slapped the top of my
head with her palm to help me tide over my coughing fit. She did not know how strong
she was – it hurt like hell.
“Is it true?”
“No.”
“So, how did Mobbychacha get hurt?”
“What makes you think he got hurt?”
“Lal Doctor,” our neighbour down the road, "visited in
the morning. Said nothing was broken, but Mobbychacha told him that he went for
a drink of water at night and you two bashed him up.”
“B-But but why would we do that?”
Rita looked at Roma, and Roma slowly shrugged. Something
made me shiver. I turned to look into the study. Mobby was looking at me with
hatred and behind him, unable to see Mobby, Appachan gestured at me impatiently
to enter the room.
Rita and Roma hung back behind me in the doorway,
squeezing behind their father even though Appachan glared at them.
Appachan tilted his head at the corner where Mobby sat
on a chair. He looked woebegone, probably for the audience’s benefit. My cousin
Sarah was standing next to him, her face impassive.
Appachan pointed again at the spot next to her and
smiled.
It disconcerted me. I remembered how he thrashed me
those weeks ago, assuming I had been having an illicit rendezvous with my
cousin Bobby (FC70). How coldly he had treated me thereafter.
I tried not to smile back. I felt fearful and looked
at my parents – who looked anxious.
“So, mol, we were discussing your tendency to roam
around the house at night,” Appachan said.
I opened my mouth, but out of the corner of my eye I
saw Roma shake her head, and closed my mouth.
Appachan smiled, waited expectantly, and then sat
further back in his chair. His eyes narrowed on me, looked at Sarah, and Mobby,
and then returned to me. He put both his hands on the knob of his polished
walking stick, balancing his palms one on top of the other. He swung the top of
his cane around in a circular motion.
“Are you going to tell me what happened last night?”
I looked at him, surprised. Didn’t he know? Roma shook her head. That meant to tread
cautiously – mostly to shut up.
“What happened last night?” I asked. An incredulous
exclamation rose from somewhere in the room and people shifted positions nervously.
“Oho, you don’t know?”
I wondered when Appachan would use his stick to draw a
coherent response from me. I shook my head.
“Can you explain what happened to your cousin Mobby?”
Appachan waved his hand at his grandson. I stepped forward to look at Mobby
properly. He looked angry. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and was covered from
head to toe. I could see nothing that was a reminder of last night.
“What happened to him?”
“She’s lying, you-you liar!” Sarayumama shouted from
somewhere behind me and I lurched in terror into Sarah. She steadied me and let
me go. The family rearranged itself to block Sarayumama’s way.
Appachan leaned towards Mobby and pushed up his
sleeve. His skin was blue and maroon. Mobby looked at me with even more hatred.
“Do you know how these got on his arm?”
I shook my head.
“Adi kittum!” Appachan said angrily. It
translated to ‘you’ll get a beating’ in Malayalam.
I moved back a step and looked straight ahead. I
wondered what Sarah had said. A quick look upwards and her face still showed no
emotion. Why were they still asking questions?
“What were you doing outside your room at night?”
Appachan asked again.
“Soo-soo. But I didn’t do that,” I tilted my head at
Mobby, but looked at a growth on my grandfather’s neck.
“He said you beat him.”
“He’s dreaming, for sure.”
“Insolent child! Beat her, beat her!” Sarayumama shrieked,
dramatically straining against her sister Saroj’s tight hold.
From the corner of my eyes I could see Roma shaking her head furiously.
I couldn’t bear to look at anyone, so I kept my eyes pinned to the wall in
front of me, where Pilipochyan, and Sarah’s parents Georgiechyan and Anniemama,
stood. Sarah’s parents looked tense, but Pilipochyan had an encouraging look. I
moved my eyes to a large damp smudge on the wall above them and kept it there.
“Are you not scared of the consequences of lying?” Appachan shouted.
Why was Appachan assuming I was guilty? “What makes you think I’m not
telling the truth?”
“You are not!”
“Would you believe me if I did? You didn’t believe me when I told you
Bobby grabbed my breast in the loft.” I heard gasps and ignored them. “Yet you
thrashed me and treated me like a scoundrel. You assumed I was the guilty one. And when he did it again, you were okay with it.”
“He did it again…” Appachan looked shocked.
“You left me out when you bought the rings for everyone (FC73). You let
everyone see it. Because you punished me, everyone did the same. If you
want to believe me you can. But I’m not going to tell you something just
because you think that’s what happened.”
I saw him lift the cane. “That’s right. Hit me… go on… hit me because
you didn’t like what I said. Did you want the truth? How do you know whether
anything I say is going to be the truth. Why believe me when all this time you
haven’t been able to believe me.” I stopped because Sarah was shaking me.
“Really, Sarahchechi, tell him the truth. But can Appachan handle it?” I
pulled myself out of Sarah’s grasp. I lunged at Mobby, slapped my palm as hard
as I could on his lap and squeezed.
He howled in pain. The stick came down on my arm. I hopped in pain,
oblivious to the sudden explosion around me. When the stick rose again and
stopped, I looked furiously into my uncertain-looking grandfather’s eyes,
“Scared, Appacha?” the stick stayed up a second and then came at me. I ran out
of the way into the crowd, which was too dense for me to make an escape. I felt
hands push me towards my grandfather, but smaller hands dragged me back. I saw
my grandfather get up, using his stick to push himself forward, and snorted.
The scene was priceless. I looked around, still in the moment, watching
relatives snarl, my parents trying to get to me, my aunts and uncles holding
back an apoplectic Sarayumama. Bobby’s hand grabbed my hair, I wondered if it
would hurt. In a moment it did and suddenly I was free and stumbling sideways
because a blow caught me on a shoulder.
Bodies fell on me in a sudden fracas and I felt suffocated. Had there
ever been a sane person in this household? Someone was lifting me up by my ear.
My grandmother! I had forgotten Ammachi! Sarayumama shrilly urged her to give
me the hiding of my life. Ammachi was right handed and had to let go of my ear
to hit me.
Too late, I darted back, again trying to squeeze through the bodies. I
looked at my parents, my father was deathly still, but mostly upset. I stopped.
Next to him, my mother was crying. I knew what it was. My father was upset I
was running away. If I wanted to stay home to avoid a bully at school, he’d
say, “Will you run every day?"
My dad, upset with everything happening around me, was more upset I was
not facing it head on.
I felt dread but turned and walked back to Sarah’s side. The family quietened.
“Not trying to run?” Appachan said sarcastically. He was standing next
to Sarah and glaring at us both.
“Where would I go?”
“You can hide in the rubber fields, under the guava tree… next door.”
“That is for lesser beings.”
I thought he’d beat me, but I felt a movement next to me. Sarah’s eyes
looked at the floor, but her nostrils flared and her mouth was tightly pursed…
trying to stifle a smile.
I had to ask the question. “Appacha, did you ask Mobbychyan why he was
out of his room last night?”
“That is not the issue here. He is free to leave his room anytime.”
“I am not?” What inequity! Appachan opened his mouth to argue. “Why did
he need to be out of his room at night?” I could see Mobby shift in his chair.
“He wanted to drink water.”
“There’s water in his room.”
“No. There wasn’t!” Mobby said.
“The jug was half full in the morning.” I hadn’t bothered to look, but
went with it. There was usually water in the jugs in every room every morning.
“How do you know?” Appachan asked.
“I saw Bobbychyan throw the water out of the window in the morning.”
There was sudden silence. Everyone turned to look at Mobby’s younger
brother Bobby. “Bobby?” My grandfather asked my cousin, shifting his
body to face his grandson.
“Er, y-yes, A-Appacha. Er-er, n-no, no!” Bobby’s eyes darted to Mobby
and back to Appachan.
“Yes or no.”
Bobby hesitated looking at Mobby. “No.”
“Liar,” it crept out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“You b…!”
“I’m what? Say it, Bobby. I’m a what? I’m a b-b-b-bottle of water?”
He stepped towards me, but looked around at the silent crowd and
stopped.
Appachan’s stick rose, pointing at Bobby. “Stand where you are.”
He turned to Mobby, “Why did you need to leave your room when you had water
in your room.”
“Toilet.”
“Why did you say you went to drink water… several times. Stand up!”
Mobby stood up hurriedly. “I did go to have water, a-and to go to the
toilet.”
“Tell me again what happened in the corridor.”
“Er, er, they saw me in the corridor… an-and they told me to go back to
my room. And-and then, she,” Mobby pointed at me, “she took the bat and started
hitting me. And then Sarahchechi took the bat and hit me. I begged her to stop
but she didn’t.”
Grandfather was silent. After a long time, he moved to his chair and sat
down.
I hated Mobby with every fibre of my being. Sarah was still, her mouth
tight and eyes staring straight ahead.
When my grandfather continued to stay silent, I said, “Giving up?” So
easily.
“Quiet!”
“I can’t. Not when someone is accusing me of something I didn’t do. Also
seems the rules are different for different people.”
“Quiet, mol! Keep quiet!” this time it was my father from across
the room, furious at me. I was angry, and close to tears. Your parents should
be on your side. Apparently not. I looked ahead, and took a deep breath.
Appachan stood up. He felt on the top of the bookshelf and pulled out the
thin length of stick that he used to threaten us with when we were younger but never used. Bits of cobweb clung to it. There was a gasp and a
murmur. “Put out your hands!”
My hands curled into fists and stayed tucked tightly into my side. “Put
out your hands!” Appachan screamed.
“Put out your hands, child. Hold it out,” people said around me.
Suddenly the stick whacked my legs. I flinched but held myself
still. It stung bitterly, but the pain was blunted slightly by the kurta-salwar my
mother had insisted I wear this morning.
My eyes filled and I felt sad. After two more quick lashes, Joychayan stood
in front of me, his arms outstretched. “She’s a grown child, Appacha. Enough
now. She’s learnt her lesson.”
“Go!” Appachan yelled at me, pointing at the study door. The crowd parted
quickly and I turned my back on my grandfather and walked away.
******
This series is fictional and follows the narrator who is remembering events related to a family vacation in Kerala during her childhood.
Her grandfather believes the narrator and her cousin Sarah are responsible for causing injury to his grandson Mobby and is having it out with them. Things do not end well for her.
Read the entire The Webs We Weave series here
******
#fiction #keralasyrianchristians #lifeinakeralavillage #FishyChronicles #mumbaimalayalis #malayalam #clandestinelove #love #forbiddenlove
