Fishy Chronicles 87: The Webs We Weave (19) – The secret

Though it was a state secret, everyone in the family got to know of Sarah and Johnny’s ‘disengagement’ (FC86) in a few days – even the youngest kids.

We had just spent awkward hours in a humid church, squeezed into an increasingly stinky crush of people there for the Sunday service. All the while people glanced our way, whispered to each other, hastily looked away when we looked at them, and either spoke with a smirk or double meanings.

Elsamama and Amma stood on either side of Anniemama, effectively fending off questions. But then some girls approached Shyla and Nina after church and asked. They were saved the trouble of answering when a stony-faced Sarah stepped out of that side entrance and almost bumped into them. The girls scattered in different directions like an army of ants interrupted, while Shyla and her sister stayed rooted to the spot in shock. Sarah raked her cousins with a filthy look and walked past.

I kept out of everyone’s way. It was too much tension. Today people who had seen through me for weeks wanted to speak to me. My nosey second cousins who lived opposite Kunjappachan’s house, Eenya and her sister Tara, blocked my way. I composed myself – lying, or being economical with the truth, was easier when emotions didn't come in the way.

“Is it true?” Eenya asked.

“What?”

“The engagement is off?” Tara said.

“Engagement?”

“Sarahchechi’s engagement to Johnnychyan!” Eenya burst out.

“As far as I know it’s still on,” I pushed past and walked quickly to the dirt road leading out of the church. The church had loads of money – every parishioner had someone in the Middle East, the US, UK or Australia and the church often got hefty donations from those wanting to make good impressions – yet the road outside the church stayed clay red and untarred year after year after year, and when it rained there was a strong chance you would slip. 

A puddle splashed and I felt cold wetness at the back of my salwar. But I hurried on. A hand grabbed my elbow. I started in fear, but relaxed when I saw who it was. I started walking away from the church’s gates.

“What does it mean? They aren’t going to get married?” Rita asked. She had been standing a way off but must have heard the conversation with our second cousins.

“No.”

“What happened?”

“Johnnycha’s family called and said they didn’t want to marry.”

Rita caught my upper arm and made me stop. I sighed and stood under the stoop of a shop. I watched people go past in their Sunday whites, and slippers, unperturbed by the 99.99% possibility of top-quality slush scarring their whites for life.

Rita looked confused. She opened her mouth, but words didn’t come out. Finally she said, “He doesn't want to marry Sarahchechi?”

“Yes.”

“He said that?”

“Ye… er… there was a phone call. I don’t think it was him.”

“So he didn’t say.”

“Someone in his family said it for him.”

It doesn’t count.”

“Yes it does.”

“Someone could be doing it chumma (just like that).”

“Too serious a business for someone to do chumma.”

“I mean… I don’t think he wants to.”

Something about the way she said it made me pause. “What do you mean, Rita?”

She looked around and pushed me back into the damp brick wall. “You remember we went over to Eenya’s house for her birthday?”

I snorted, but stilled my cynical tongue. There was no traditional payasam that Eenya’s mother was known for, but some awful cake Tara had baked. The plain yellow cake at the bakery was better. “Yes.”

“Achacha was there.”

“Which Achacha?

“Johnnycha!”

“What?”

“Not at the party, but he was in a car down the road. And after a while, Chechi disappeared. I saw her sitting in the car.”

“But... how? He's in Bombay... and... and... his family would have known! Thomachan would have known!” Thomachan was Eenya's brother and Johnny's friend.

Rita shrugged. "He was in the car with Sarahchechi."

I shook my head. It was too farfetched. No one took such risks. Not in this village at least. “Kasam se, God promise, chechi!” Rita pinched her throat with one hand and touched her head with the other, indicating that God would smote her if she lied.

Rita squeezed my arms and pushed me deeper into the wall. “Believe me, chechi, Achacha was in his friend’s car – like the car Appapa has. A white one, with big scratch marks. You remember Johnnychacha used to drive around in that.”

"Rasool?" Johnny’s friend drove a dented Padmini Premier. They spent a lot of time in the car. Apparently there was no way to enjoy the company of adult friends in this village, because even if you hid in the fields someone would see you.

"Yes."  

"He was in the car with them?"

"I didn't see him."

"Er, so who drove the car?"

Another shrug.

“I don’t understand. If Johnnychyan had come everyone would have known.” 

“Yes, but he was here last week.” She counted her fingers. “On Sunday.”

How was it I hadn’t seen them. It was impossible. But even more impossible was the possibility of Rita lying. 

“He stopped calling on Wed…” 

“Who stopped?”

“Nothing.” No one knew about the calls. I pushed her away but suddenly Rita was pinning me against the wall. 

“So they are talking!”

“Er…” I clawed at the little fingers that were digging into my fleshy forearms.

“How are they talking?”

“Let me go, ouchhhhhhhh!”

She let go, but stood on tiptoe, her small body pressing aggressively into mine – a most determined expression on her little face. “He’s called Sarahchechi? When?”

“I’m not supposed to say.”

My chest compressed into my shoulder blades and the damp came right through the back of my clothes. Amma would get mad at me if the mossy bricks stained my clothes. “Come on, Rita. A secret is a secret is a secret,” I mumbled.

She didn’t move or ease the pressure on my chest. I tried pushing her, but she jammed her feet into the ground and pressed me against the wall with her upper body and arms. This was something Roma sometimes did to Rajiv and now Rita was doing it to me!

“Ok, ok. He calls late at night.”

A calculating look settled on her face, and she stepped back. “What movie are you watching?”

“Eh?”

“Which movie?”

“A-a s-serial. Crime programme – CSI.”

“What time?”

I remained quiet. That was the only 'me' time I got in our overcrowded household. I didn’t want another person to join. Rita pressed into me again, but this time I didn’t budge. But when her index finger wouldn’t stop skewering my right kidney, I gave up, “ouch... one o'clock... ooouuucccchhhh.” I shoved with some effort, and she staggered back.

Rita grinned and walked to the middle of the road. “Come on. Let's go before Ammachi comes out and thinks we're loitering.”

******

After a nice fat Sunday lunch we sat in the sitting room waiting for the adults to leave for their afternoon naps. But the boys grabbed the TV remote first and after watching them surf channels and laugh at their sisters’ entreaties to allow them to watch a certain film, I walked out. The house was stifling.

I opened the sitting room door and looked back at the scene in the room. The long baby pink curtains (Appachan’s choice) were billowing with the breeze coming in from the windows, the boys were spread across all the chairs and sofas, unwilling to let their sisters sit, the only exception being Rajiv and Roma who were squeezed into a love seat. None of the boys were willing to toy with Roma, especially after the chapter of violence Bobby was subjected to some weeks ago (FC76).

At this moment, I hated the boys with all my heart. They were crude, awful to the core and I did not know how my family favoured them. I shuddered when I looked at Mobby and Bobby, their heads together discussing something in low tones. Idiots.

I wanted to bang the door, but that one moment of rebelliousness would unleash demons that were right now safely snoring in their beds. Why chance a typoon when you could eat a sweet chubby mango. I closed the door gently and ran around to the back of the house for the mango-lassoing pole. It lay near the shed and I hurled it over the side gate and climbed over. I ran joyfully, but carefully, through the pineapple patch, enjoying the sudden rain-induced coolness. 

From a point on the property it was possible to see the river. You could hear it all the time if you stood still and slowed your breathing – a gentle whooshing sound that almost sounded like the trees shivering, but not quite.

Rita followed me and we smiled at each other. I howled and barked, imitating the dogs in the neighbourhood, enjoying our moments of freedom. Rita bared her teeth and yipped like our neighbour's pomeranian. We howled and yipped until we noticed a passerby stop to watch. Another nosey idiot neighbour.

******

Past 12.45am, I peeped warily at the sofa and sighed in relief. Sarah was not there. I felt my spirits sag thinking of how she had been forced to give up on Johnny.

A cold hand caught my arm. I leaped backwards and hit the wall. I cowered with my arms up to protect myself, when I heard someone shush me. I opened an eye and saw Rita. I wanted to wring her neck.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed.

“I want to watch TV too,” she whispered in my ear.

I was stumped. “You’ll get into trouble.”

“Ok.”

I glared at her, until she gestured for me to come closer. I leaned towards her lips. “What?”

“I got a plan for that.”

“What?”

“When anyone comes, we should run in different directions.”

“What if they block the corridor?”

“We can run through the study to the dining room, get to the store room and wait there till all is clear.”

“But what if they go after only one person.”

“Then we’re screwed.”

******

Fear didn’t deter us. We watched our crime serial without sound, trying to figure out what they were saying, until Rita leaned into my ear and said, “We’ve got to call Johnnychyan.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Ask him the truth?”

“How?”

“Just ask.”

“He’ll laugh at us and complain to our parents.”

“Ok. I’ll do it then,” Rita straightened in the sofa and continued watching TV.

You irritating pimple. “Ok, let’s ask.”

“Deal. You get his number from Sarahchechi.”

“Whhatttt? She’ll bite my head off!”

“Hmm. Ok. I’ll try and get it,” Rita whispered nonchalantly.

“How will you do that?”

“I don’t know. I’ll find a way. Now keep quiet and let me watch. Here. Eat this.” She pushed a large oily ball of sugiyan into my hand. Ammachi had made the ladies cook namkeen and other eats the last few days – she was preparing to send off her children with many goodies. The sugiyan, filled with a sweet moong (lentil) filling, had been made fresh and would stay a few days.

“How… how…”

“How did I get them? Ammachi changed the lock and Rajiv saw her hide the key under the paper at the bottom of the sideboard.”

I had been made to clean said sideboard recently, and had lined its shelves with clean back editions of the Malayala Manorama newspaper. I eyed the little one… had we corrupted this 10-year old more than we knew?

“Eat. Don’t drop any crumbs, or the ants will come and Ammachi will track us down.”

“Ok. Got it.”

After the sugiyan and the serial, too lazy to wash our hands, we wiped them on the back of a curtain in a neglected corner of the sitting room and parted ways, promising to keep the whole day, and night, a secret. 

******

This series is fictional and follows the narrator who is remembering events related
to a family vacation gone wrong in Kerala. 

In this episode she comes to know, through another cousin, that their cousin Sarah had been meeting her fiancé Johnny without the family's knowledge. Johnny's family ended the engagement a few days previously.   

Read the entire The Webs We Weave series here FC69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80,81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94

#ants #antarmy #river #bombay #crumbs #washinghands #fiction #keralachristians #keralastories #kerala #keralavacation #keralafamilies #love #loss #brokenengagements #marriage #food #mobby #bobby #sarah #fishychronicles87 #grandparents #websweweave #mumbaimalayalis #malayalistories #cake #secret #padminipremier #crimesceneinvestigation #crimeserial #CSI #malayalamanoramanewspaper #sideboard #payasam #bakery #kidney #johnnyandsarah #keralachurch #typhoon #mango #sugiyan #namkeen #10yearold #corrupt #neighbour's #dogs #pomeranian

Fishy Chronicles 77: The Webs We Weave (9) – Breaking point (cont'd)

Photo credit: A. Peter

We sat in the shade of a large tree in my great uncle’s courtyard, the heat and sweat adding to our stress. The older girls discussed what had happened, explored explanations and excuses, raged at Bobby the Brute and then slipped into silence.

Strangely, I wasn’t too bothered. This was an average day for me, though I was pleased my cousins had given Bobby the hiding of his life. Not for a moment had he thought his sisters would have had the courage to set him straight and how! (FC76)

I went to the back of the house and scratched the goat’s head. I wondered why someone would name their goat Petty. One of Appachan’s older brother Kunjappachan’s grandchildren had named the goat, and had been too young to know what it meant. Aju called the goat Petty because it liked to be petted. It didn’t have a petty bone in its body. It was sweet and gentle and ate everything in sight, including money. Unusually, Kunjappachan once gave Sarayumama a cash gift and, after leaving her uncle’s house, stood out of sight of the windows to count his generosity.

The story goes that the resting goat got up, plucked one of the notes from Sarayumama’s hands and gobbled it up. It took her a couple of seconds to register what had happened before she screamed, dropped the rest of the notes, pounced on poor Petty and tried to pry its mouth open – which is like opening the jaws of an inert crocodile. Mathan Uncle was conflicted – help his wife retrieve a masticated note or pick up the money on the ground. He chose the latter because by then her cousins had come out of the house and pulled the goat away from Sarayumama. My aunt wailed so much that Kunjappachan gave her another note to replace the one she had lost.

I decided to go and see what was happening with Sarah chechi. “You stay right here,” Shyla said.

“Why?”

Nina and Shyla, my older cousins, looked at each other blankly and then Nina said, “Because we should all be together when we have to go back and face them,” she tilted her head to indicate my grandfather’s house.

“I’ll be there when you face them. I’ll just come from the other direction.” I began to walk away.

“Don’t let anyone know we’re here,” Shyla said when I reached the road.

“They’re going to know when Kunjappachan returns home,” I didn’t turn because the girls and their complaints jarred my senses.

Except for the occasional vehicle on the main road, there was no noise in the village. The only sounds were of birds talking to each other or sometimes, if you listened for it, the movement of the river’s water.

I slowed as I reached my grandfather’s house, all was silent. The front door was open and there were people in the sitting room. The silence felt suspicious.

I climbed into the field adjoining the house from a spot where the barbed wire sagged, I had seen the workers come in this way, and darted behind the trees and got into the compound through the side entrance. I hugged the walls and crept along until I was near the Mathans’ room, from which a great deal of noise was coming.

“Those girls! Ammachi, you’ve got to deal with them firmly,” Sarayumama said. Her voice shrill and somewhat hoarse. I swatted away the idea of her voice leaving her this vacation. So far I had only seen this happen in the movies. And with my aunt’s luck she and her voice would bounce back brilliantly.

Ammachi murmured soothingly. In the background Bobby groaned. I felt fear creep over me but still crept closer to the open window. Through the worn half curtain stretched across the bottom of the window, I could make out my cousin lying on his parents’ bed and people sitting or standing around him, the stance of their bodies serious.

I crept towards the front of the house, but lost my nerve, so I turned and ran to the kitchen and slowed. Sonimol chechi, our servant, usually sat on the steps during quiet moments. Today she was not sitting here. With all the girls absconding and Ammachi and her daughters bent over Bobby, Sonimol chechi was probably neck deep in work.

As I moved I wondered if I was being foolish and courting more trouble. If the family caught sight of me, they’d immediately brand me the leader of the pack because I had broken Bobby before and he had it in for me bad. I stopped at the study window. Only the neighbours next door would be able to see me, but my great uncle and his family were sitting in my house now. Through the trees on both properties, I could see my cousins standing and watching me.

I leaned against the cool wall and parked my bum on the narrow ledge that ran right around the house. There were low murmurs coming from the study. I pressed myself into the wall by the window.

“You have to get her married sometime. The family is not very well off, but the boy is smart and has a good job in Mumbai. He’s also bought a flat, that is what Ivachan said. And once she finishes her Masters, she can get a job. Nowadays everyone wants a working girl.”

I tried to peer through the curtains. I couldn’t figure out who my great uncle was talking to. Or about which cousin.

“She’s attracting a lot of attention. Kunjumol says she doesn’t do any housework and disappears when she’s told to do something. How can she just walk away like that!” Appachan said.

I held my breath. There were several people crowded in the room. A chair scraped the floor and one of the doors to the study closed with a click. “Bobby says she ordered the girls to run and locked all the doors.”

“Not exactly,” Appa said. “Bobby said some of the girls beat him and Nina and Sarah locked him in.”

“It’s the same thing!” Appachan shouted. He hated his children countering him and Appa had done more than his fair share of it. “I am sure your daughter had a big role to play in it. She’s becoming a mirror image of Sarah everyday.”

“Bobby didn’t mention her. And Sarah is a smart, sensible girl, brilliant and full of promise. You shouldn’t force her to marry and ruin her chances at life just because she wants different things in life.”

“Keep quiet! Let’s organise a meeting with the boy’s family as soon as possible. Georgie, you speak to your daughter. Make her understand she has to get married soon. Maybe all this nonsense will end. She is almost 24, old by today’s standards. She’s a bad influence on the girls. A marriage will set her right. It will set everything right. You’ll see.”

I waited for Georgiechyan’s rebuttal, but there was silence in the room.

Soon, the men started leaving the room.

                                                    ******

I stayed plastered to the wall, feeling repulsed by what I had heard. I felt a deep disappointment for my cousin Sarah.

Because my relatives perceived her as stubborn and given to new ideas, she was going to suffer for it. I thought of my father’s sister Sarojmama and wondered at the haste of her wedding. After her marriage, she had given up all plans to study further or even sit for the civil services exams, which is why she had wanted to go to Delhi in the first place. Or was it?

I roused myself and darted to the front gate. I heard someone shout, but sped down the road towards the junction. I wondered whether to tell Sarah chechi what I had heard. There was no knowing how she would react. Sometimes I was scared of her.

I slowed near the junction and groaned. My nosey second cousins, who lived opposite Kunjappachan, were stuffing their faces at the bakery and called out to me. I listened to their sarcastic chatter, but smiled and shrugged at their queries. The girl, Eenya, who had just begun college, said, “I saw Sarah chechi and some of the girls walking around the church compound. Is it someone’s birthday or death anniversary today?”

“No, Eenya chechi, they are just there to pray. I’m going to join them.”

I turned to run, but her brother Thomachan grabbed my upper arm to hold me still. “Wait. We heard a lot of shouting in the afternoon. What’s going on at the big house?” On a quiet day one could hear people quarreling in other houses. And if people stood in their courtyards, they could probably make out the gist of the argument. People usually stopped what they were doing to listen.

“There was a rat in the house, we beat it some but it escaped into one of the rooms. We don’t know where. No one wants to be in the house until it’s trapped.” I did consider Bobby a rat, and for sure Appa and Amma would consider my take on today’s happenings (FC76) a travesty of the truth – but then, who was ever going to know the truth.

“Uh-huh.” My cousins looked at me closely, but I held their gaze. Finally they nodded slowly.

I broke into a run, only slowing as I reached the tall gates of the church. The gates to heaven, Sarayumama once told me. There were some older men standing by the church offices, watching Sarah chechi and the girls. They were in the graveyard adjoining the church, walking over the graves in the crammed cemetery and reading out the names on the tombstones.

“Have you also come to check out the graves? Is it a city thing? Aren’t there any graveyards in Madras or Bombay*?” One of the men tossed at me, laughing at his friends. I didn’t know who he was, but for sure he knew my family.

I walked into the dark, cool church, light coming through the open doors and windows. I felt alone and free and at peace. I stood by the huge lamp hanging from the ceiling at the centre of the church and filled with holy oil. I prayed that only the best should happen to Sarah chechi. I dipped three fingers in the holy oil and drew a cross on my forehead.

Rita waved to me. She was holding Sarah chechi’s hand and they were leaning over a grave. I knew it was our grandfather’s grandmother’s grave. Some of her children and grandchildren were in the same grave and I sometimes wondered if they got out when it was quiet and played or talked. We stood on another grave to stare at the stone slab, reading again the names and years of births and deaths. It was a plain white slab that had grown in height over a century and a half. The original cross was cemented into the face of the grave.

“When are we going back, chechi?” I watched Eva, Tanya and Teena sitting together on a bench at the side of the church. Roma was lying on another bench, the only movement a hand fanning a newspaper over her face. She got up when she heard me and started walking over.

“If you’re bored you can go home,” Sarah chechi said. I didn’t care for the sarcasm.

“What about the others?”

“They’ll probably go home when they get the courage… or hungry,” she looked up and grinned.

“Aren’t you scared, chechi?” Rita said.

“Of what, baba?”

“Of what they’ll do to us. We beat Bobby and they will punish us for it.”

“Okay, and then what? Do you think they’ll beat us?”

“Er… n-no.”

“Shout at us?”

“Of course.”

“Isn’t that what they do every day? So they’ll shout louder and try to make you more scared.”

“But aren’t you afraid?” Rita persisted.

Sarah chechi shrugged her shoulders and laughed, all her perfect teeth showing. Her face was pink from the heat and she looked beautiful. “No.”

“So why didn’t you stay back to face them?” I asked, irritated by her nonchalance.

She grinned even more, “Felt scared, for sure, but I wanted some peace of mind too.” She started jumping across the graves again.

Roma and I turned to look at the young men who had just entered the compound. They glanced at us and went into the church. One man lingered near the entrance, looking at us, and then joined his friends.

                                                               ******

He waited until the rest of the girls had gone ahead and joined Sarah chechi who was walking slowly.

“Which of your cousins is that?” I heard the deep voice say. I shivered.

“One of my Bombay cousins. Hey, you, come here, slow coach,” Sarah chechi said and I hurried to her.

“Say hello to Johnny,” I shook hands with him and he laughed. He was dark and tall and quite good looking. “He’s Thomachan’s friend.”

I nodded. Sarah chechi pointedly looked at the group at the end of the road, and tilted her head towards them, telling me to be gone. I started walking reluctantly towards my cousins. I turned to look and Johnny waved. I waved back. I waited at the end of the road and watched the two say goodbye. Johnny walked the other way and disappeared.

                                                             ******

At the house, the girls disappeared around the back of the house to enter it through the kitchen. Sarah chechi scowled at them but walked in through the open front door. I, with Rita and Roma clutching my hands, followed.

The family – with a variety of expressions on their faces – was arranged in the front room. I was surprised at the looks of sympathy from some of the older women and men, but felt fear bubble up at the rage on Sarayumama’s face. Surprisingly, Kunjappachan was still at our house. And he had a warm smile on his face.

And then we saw Bobby, in the middle of the large red rexine sofa, propped up by his father and brother Mobby. He shifted position and let out a low groan.

“Look what you did to my son!” Sarayumama shouted. “You beat him, you junglees, where do you learn these things from!” she tossed a disparaging look at her sisters-in-law, who looked back at her stonily. “Well?” She screamed at Sarah chechi.

There was pin drop silence. She came closer and screeched into our ears, “Nothing to say?” Rita, Roma and I lowered our heads to avoid looking at her. “Aren’t you going to put some sense into your daughters’ heads? Are they going to go about bashing up boys and behaving like they aren’t from good families.”

Kunjappachan made a tutting sound. “Now, now, mol. I’m sure they will get a talking to.”

“Not good enough!”

“It will do for now,” Appachan said coldly.

“B-But…”

Bobby made a snivelling sound. And Sarayumama leaped at us. She grabbed Sarah chechi’s arms and tried to shake her, but Sarah chechi looked our aunt in the eyes calmly and stayed still. Sarayumama, much shorter than her niece, shook vainly instead.

Sarayumama let Sarah chechi go. A cunning look replaced the angry one. “Don’t worry, mol. A marriage will fix your stubborn temper for good. And sooner than you think.”

Sarah chechi’s eyes widened and her mouth opened, but closed immediately.

Sarayumama continued watching her niece gleefully. “What a pity your sister is hiding in the US, else both of you would have been sorted by now. You girls don’t have any manners.”

“Don’t talk about my daughters that way! Things will fall in place when they have to,” Georgiechyan said gruffly. He stepped forward and stood between his oldest daughter and sister, forcing both to move backwards. “Go to your rooms, children. The elders will talk to you about what happened.”

Sarayumama stood with her arms spread wide, blocking our way. “That’s it? That’s all? They brutalise my son and get away scot free?”

“If he had manners and learnt how to respect women, no one would have laid a finger on him,” Nina said from the dining room doorway.

Sarayumama ran to her and managed to beat my cousin a couple of times before Nina was pulled away by my aunts. Nina began to cry and there was sudden uproar.

The children and adults were screaming and shouting at the same time and Kunjappachan and my grandparents looked aghast at what had just happened.

“Quiet!” Appachan shouted. “Stop hitting the girls. We won’t talk about this now. Control yourself, Sarayu!”

“B-but…” the sound died in my aunt’s throat. For once my aunt couldn’t find her voice. There were angry looks from the rest of the room and some of the elders blocked the dining room entrance. From the dining room, we heard Nina crying and we pushed towards her.

This wasn’t the end of the matter. There would be an inquisition. My parents were glaring at me and I could feel my spirit, so far strong, wilt.

                                                             ****** 

Kunjappachan left after evening tea. His jokes and chatter loosened his brother. We girls first hid in the dining room and later moved into various corners of the house, answering the boys questions and then discussing plausible responses to any of Appachan’s questions between ourselves.

“What’s wrong with telling Appachan the truth?” Sarah chechi said sarcastically.

“He won’t believe us,” Shyla said.

“So what? You know he won’t. So why waste your time cooking up alternatives. Tell the truth and get it over with.”

“Did you see how Sarayumama beat me!” Nina raged.

“Why did you let her? You’re an adult, why did you let her touch you. She’s half your size, by the way. You could have pushed her away or pinned down her hands.”

“I-I didn’t think… besides the rest of them would have turned on me!”

“You don’t know that. And Sarayumama has a screw loose anyway.” There was silence and then a chuckle echoed around the room.

“You can’t say that,” Nina said, weakly, smiling.

But Sarah chechi had lost interest. Her father’s head appeared at the doorway. “You girls are wanted in Appachan’s study,” Georgiechyan smiled kindly.

We filed out of his bedroom and were walking towards Appachan’s study when I heard Sarah chechi ask, “What was that bit about my marriage?”

“Later.”

“What?”

I turned to look. Sarah chechi had grabbed her father’s arms, was leaning into his face and murmuring furiously, but Georgiechyan did not respond. He pushed his daughter forward. I held out my hand, and after a couple of seconds of hesitation, Sarah chechi took it. Her face was angry.

                                                             ******

As Sarah chechi had predicted, Appachan didn’t believe a word we said. It wasn’t anything he said, but his coldness all through. Worse, he let Bobby and the others sit in and we were interrupted often. Sarah chechi looked at the others calmly and refused to be drawn in. Only because our parents were present were we saved from a thrashing. 

We were soon told to leave. My aunt and grandmother smirked and laughed, telling us we deserved it. I wondered what “it” was. The study door closed with Appachan, Sarah chechi’s parents and my father and his brothers.

After everyone left the dining room, I returned to the closed study door, feeling fearful. I heard snatches of the conversation. Appachan spoke about a boy coming to meet Sarah. He had good prospects, he lived in Bombay. Plus he was highly recommended by Kunjappachan.

Sarah chechi declined politely, citing further studies and job prospects. At this point my grandfather shouted at her, telling her she had no choice in the matter. I felt a cold wet hand on the back of my neck and a ladle sting the back of my legs. I screamed when Ammachi started hitting me harder, trying to twist myself out of her grip. The study door flew open and Sarah chechi yanked my grandmother’s hand off my neck, pulled the large stainless-steel ladle out of her hand and threw it across the dining table. She dragged me away and let go of me in the corridor.

“Why do you have to sneak about! Why? Why can’t you be a normal kid and be silly and foolish and girly, like, like, like…” she pointed, frustrated, at my cousins watching us from a corner of the sitting room.

I felt my face on fire. I stayed quiet, unable to think of anything. Sarah chechi pushed me away from her and stomped off to her parents’ room and locked the door.

I stayed still against the wall until my parents took me to our room. We didn’t speak that night. Nor did anyone speak at dinner time. 

                                                             ******

* Madras is now Chennai and Bombay is Mumbai

This is The Webs We Weave (FC69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93. 94) series and is about events that occur during the narrator's childhood family vacation in Kerala, India. 

Please note that this is a work of fiction.  

Fishy Chronicles 75: Lockdown Diaries: The Webs We Weave (7) – Mobby Dick

I tossed about in bed, thinking of my cousin Mobby and our servant Sonimol chechi coochie cooing (FC74).

My cousin and I had a level of closeness earlier – I admired him as one did an older male cousin. But the shenanigans of the past few weeks (FC69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74) had me hating the entire Mathan family and the sentiment was reciprocated stoutly.

In the morning, I set out to watch my cousin – Mobby the Dick. I hung around the kitchen, which led to many inquiring looks. I did errands for my mother and chatted with Sonimol chechi, who, I felt, looked on edge. But I was a kid – what did I know. I followed her outside, and her eyes went to the shed, from where we could hear barks of laughter and inaudible chatter.

Most days I sat under the guava tree at the side of the house to avoid Ammachi (grandmother). She had started giving me more housework. I raised the matter with my mother but she had no solution. “Just do what Ammachi asks. It won’t kill you to do some more chores,” Amma said.

“Okay.”

My mother’s eyebrows rose, but she handed me a knife and showed me how to peel a potato the way Ammachi wanted – scraping the wet skin off. Ammachi had given cousin Shyla an earful for peeling off thick strips of tuber. Shyla was now on dish-washing duty and hated it. If the dish was even a bit dirty or had soap suds on it, she was made to wash it again.

“She’s Margaret Thatcher without the charm or dress sense,” Shyla said. She was sitting, with other cousins, on a step leading out of the kitchen. Sunlight flashed off the blue stone on her finger (FC73). I hurled wheat grain at the chicken – they scurried away and then returned for more of the same punishment. Now, I threw a grain at a time to listen to my cousins.

“M-itler… without the polished propaganda or moustache.” My cousins giggled at Shyla’s assessment.

“Shhh,” Nina said when my grandmother came out of the kitchen to scold Sonimol chechi, who had been slow in getting firewood from the shed. Mobby was near her.

“She does look like Hitler. Her moustache is quite becoming,” Shyla continued.

I was surprised at the jokes. My grandmother had been generous to the older girls, gifting them sapphire earrings and rings. The younger girls had got rings.

I lost interest in Shyla. Mobby had been talking to Sonimol chechi while she walked slowly to the shed, picked a piece of wood and walked back to deposit it in her large basket near a wall of the house. At the rate she was moving, a season would have passed. No wonder Ammachi had come out in search of her.

I was mesmerised by the idea of love unfolding. It was illicit, forbidden, and my junglee idiot cousin was involved. Someone else’s love story had commandeered all my attention.

I moved towards the lovers. When I was near Mobby, with Fatty (Ammachi) yapping at my heels, I threw handfuls of grain at him. The hens dashed towards him and he screamed, trying to find escape. I had just remembered he was frightened of farm animals and hated the way they looked at him – a childhood fear he hadn’t outgrown.

Sonimol chechi stood in front of Mobby with her arms spread wide, but the hens rushed around her towards the grain falling off my cousin. I showered him with more until I felt the sting of Ammachi’s stick.

Even though I had seen Ammachi, I was too slow avoiding her. Blows rained on my arms, back and legs, until I pulled the stick out of Ammachi’s grasp, broke it and threw the two bits into Sonimol’s basket. I grabbed my grain tin, intent on throwing the contents at Mobby, but stopped. If I deliberately annoyed Fatty I would be sent back to Bombay on the next train. She was sated now that she had given me a thrashing.

I had to chill. There was more to come.

I walked away and sat near the guava tree, calling out to Romeo. He was a young rooster with dark green and red brown feathers. I adored him and fed him kitchen titbits every day. He hurried to me and ate out of my hand. Then he let me hold him and listened to me grumble about Mobby Dick and Ammachi.

******

Over the next few days I felt cheered – my father couldn’t get tickets back to Bombay. There was some peace in the house and my cousins had started involving me in their chatter.

Some even commiserated with me about my grandparents not giving me a ring (FC73). But it rang false. I felt they were happy I hadn’t got a ring. I couldn’t understand why, but it was an emotion I had witnessed many times during my vacation.

One day I was in the fields and Babychyan, who had worked for Appachan (grandfather) for decades, asked me where my sling was.

“Ammachi destroyed it because she said I was becoming a boy.”

“Oho. Like that, is it.”

“Yes.”

“So, no more mangoes.”

“I have been able to pull some out of the trees with the long stick, but…”

Just then Mathan Uncle passed by, gave us a haughty look and disappeared between some banana trees. Babychyan walked to the rubber trees and gestured to me to follow.

The old man walked into the rubber thottam (estate) and used a long stick to probe the ground. He bent and picked up, and threw away, twigs and leaves. Eventually he found a couple of sturdy branches, pulled out his sickle-like knife and started hacking at them.

He cut away until they resembled white sticks. He scraped his blade across the twigs until they became smooth. He wound coconut leaves around the base of the twigs, and firmed them with strips of dried rubber milk he peeled off the trees. I was aghast at what he was doing and turned to look around. All the elders were busy.

“Won’t Appachan be angry with you for taking the rubber milk off the trees like that?”

“He won’t mind,” Babychyan smiled, a black hole appearing where his front teeth should have been.

He rolled and rolled the rubber strips around the contraption and I felt lightheaded with happiness – Babychyan was fashioning a slingshot.

He handed it to me and we turned to go. I hesitated as we left the thottam. I hadn’t brought my bag with me and Babychyan was half naked, with only a mundu on. So I darted behind a tree, tucked my blouse into the waist of my pavada (long skirt) and dropped the sling into the back of my blouse, where it lay uncomfortably half way down my back.

I chafed at how long the men took, yakking about the weather, crop price, manure and blah blah.

“Appa, I need to go to the toilet. Badly.”

“Oh. Go behind a bush. I’ll stand guard,” he grinned.

“Appa!”

“Okay, come on. Let’s go home. Too hot anyway.” He put his hand to the small of my back and stopped.

“Please, Appa, not here. Babychyan gave me a gift, but I can’t show anyone.”

“Ok-ay.”

Appa waved at the others and I walked in front of him till we reached the road. His hand caught my arm, “Well?”

“Babychyan asked me about my old sling and then made me one.”

“Why do you need to hide it?”

“Ammachi may burn it again. And,” I turned my head in the direction of the clearing, “Appachan may get angry.”

“Don’t you think it caused you too much trouble last time?”

I opened my mouth to contradict him and realised Appa didn’t know what Bobby had done to Rita (FC72) and that I had sprayed a hailstorm of stones on Bobby to free her from his clutches. I was the reason Bobby had to go to hospital and I was still sticking to the story that I had nothing to do with his injuries.

“Is there any truth to what Sarayu chechi said?”

“Eh?”

“That you shot stones at Bobby?” I stayed silent, trying not to look away from Appa’s steady gaze. “Amma and I think you did. Why?” He stopped at a chayakada (tea stall), ordered two teas and gave me money to buy meat puffs from the bakery nearby. We sat on plastic stools near the chai shop and bit into our puffs.

“Isn’t it better to tell the truth and get on with life?” Appa persisted.

“When I told the truth about the business in the loft (FC70), no one believed me.”

“True. But Amma and I believed you.”

“But the rest of them didn’t, and look how bad things are now.”

“So you are going to run scared all the time.”

“No… but-but…”

“Did you hit Bobby with the slingshot?”

The joy of biting into a sinful meat puff died instantly. Appa knew. I would be a bigger liar if I didn’t tell the truth now. I nodded. I took a bite. “Ya-th,” I said, spraying pastry crumbs into our teas. We watched them float and sink, while we finished our puffs silently.

I wiped my hands on a piece of newspaper that Bakery Uncle gave me. “Aren’t you going to shout at me, Appa?”

“No. I’m not happy at how much you hurt Bobby. I don’t understand why.”

I got up, but Appa stayed seated. I waited for him to stand, but he ordered another chai.

I sighed and went to him. “You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“What if you don’t.”

“If it is the truth, you have nothing to fear. Be brave and say it.”

I wanted to unburden myself desperately. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Not even Amma?”

“She’ll get very upset.”

He sat straighter in his chair. “Okay. Tell me.”

I pulled my chair closer to his and described the events that had led me to send Bobby to hospital. My father was very upset. “Rita hasn’t told her parents?”

“She says she hasn’t.”

“Yet the slingshot disappeared from where you left it.”

“Y-yes.”

“And reappeared in Chechi’s room.”

“Y-yes.”

“Tell me the truth. I won’t punish you. I want the truth.”

“It is the truth! I am not lying. That is what Bobby did to Rita – I saw the whole thing. I don’t know who moved the slingshot from under the bed. I don’t know if anyone else knows.”

Appa caught my arm and pulled me onto his lap. I was too close to tears to feel embarrassed. He nodded several times and I felt comforted by his tight embrace.

At the gate of the house, Appa said, “Let’s not tell Amma… for the time being.”

******

After my heart to heart with Appa, I started feeling better.

I had started sitting next to Pilipochyan when I couldn’t while away my time outside the house. I felt safe near him. One day we were alone in the sitting room and a commotion sounded outside the house. Ammachi and Sarayumama were having an argument. Neither would stop and neighbours started coming out of their houses to watch. It was midday and Appachan was away in the fields and Mathanchyan was nodding his oily head at his wife’s comments.

The two women screamed, though I was unable to make out what they were saying. My uncles’ wives and Amma stood watching from the side of the house, but were unwilling to intervene. In the end, Sarojmama forced herself between her mother and older sister. She pushed Sarayumama towards the house and put her arm around her mother and dragged her away.

When everyone had dispersed, Pilipochyan and I were still leaning against the window, listening to the sounds of silence – the birds chirping, the breeze, the occasional truck on the road, rustling leaves, sighing trees. I loved this silence.

Pilipochyan’s eyes were on a blue bird sitting on a teak tree in the neighbour’s yard. There was a softness about his face and eyes and he looked at peace. “What do you think mother and daughter could have done differently, mol?” Pilipochyan asked softly, without turning his head.

“Er…” Stay quiet? I had seen my parents do this during arguments. But I was beginning to realise this was not the norm. Because I was left out in the cold, I had started watching all my relatives. I had seen my uncles be rude to their wives and forget the incident soon, but my aunts would be distressed about their public humiliation for the rest of the day. I also noticed how happy Ammachi and her daughters were when this happened.

“Yes, mol?”

“Maybe… Ammachi or Sarayumama… er… could have kept quiet?”

“Yes, mol. If one of them had chosen to, the argument would have died. Now, everyone has had a good laugh, and mother and daughter will be angry with each other for days.”

My thoughts exactly. I had found out that not reacting to my fireball relatives was the best torment for them. I had started walking away from angry situations and become friends with gentle Pilipochyan and sweet Rita. Roma and I were close again, but we avoided talking about the rest of the family.

I still roamed the dark house at night. But now there was an ulterior motive. At past 12.40am, I was hiding behind the curtain in the sitting room.

For a couple of days after his last tryst with Sonimol chechi, Mobby did not leave his room at night.

Just before 1am, his door squeaked. He crept along the corridor, occasionally switching on his torch to see the way ahead.

I felt tension build. I hadn’t clearly thought out what I was going to do, but I wanted to stop his nocturnal meandering for good.

He hesitated at my grandparents’ door and then turned right into the storeroom.

I grabbed the old brass vase, on a tall corner table, and ran to the storeroom. I could hear Sonimol chechi’s door open. I hurled the vase at Appachan’s door and ran to my room. The vase ricocheted off the door and bounced on the floor, shattering the silence. I heard footsteps racing into the corridor and Mobby’s door squeaked shut.

But other doors opened and I could hear Appachan’s raised voice. There was knocking on other doors and several people spoke at the same time. I raised my head from under my sheet – my parents were still fast asleep.

Torchlight shone under our bedroom door and several footsteps sounded in the corridor. Up and down, down and up. After a long time, one by one, three doors closed.

I waited for over an hour for Mobby’s door to open again. I drifted off to sleep, certain I was saving Sonimol chechi from a great tragedy.

But I was wrong.

(Stay tuned)

******

This is a fictional series revolving around the 30-something narrator. She is reliving childhood memories of an unhappy vacation in Kerala, India, with her father’s family. This is part of The Webs We Weave series (FC69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93). 

She has discovered her cousin is having a clandestine affair with a member of the staff. She tries to put an end to it. She also tells her father the truth about her cousin Bobby.