Fishy Chronicles 84: The Webs We Weave (16) – Mob justice

I left Appachan's (grandfather) study, but the commotion behind me continued. My world felt like it was crashing around my ears (FC83). I felt a deep shame and my skin tingled with humiliation. Plus my legs, where Appachan had beaten me with his stick, stung.

I slowed near the front door. I could disappear for the rest of the day… but then I’d be a quitter. I had just told Appachan that running away was for losers. I turned to the corridor, my thoughts raging. I heard running feet behind me.

Saruymama, hatred in her eyes and her mouth stretched back in a snarl, was rushing at me. I backed away, terrified. Too late. Her hands gripped my arms painfully and shook. My head rocked back and forth sharply and I tried to push her away.

“Get up! Get up! Appachan will get annoyed if you miss breakfast! How much can you sleep?” I sat up with a start. My mother was sitting beside me on the bed,  glaring. Her face softened, she felt my forehead, and then wiped my face with her sari pallu. “If you cover yourself fully under a thick sheet, you are only going to sweat. Go brush your teeth and get ready for breakfast.” She got up and left.

I looked around. The sun was bright outside the window. The fan was spinning at top speed. In the corridor outside my bedroom, the closed door muffled the sounds of a big household at the start of its day. I threw the sheet off and rubbed my legs. No pain, no marks.

I thought back. Did all that happen? I was wearing the same nighty as last night. My head didn’t hurt. The bruise on my face – I rushed to the dressing table mirror. Nothing.

I slowly ran my hands over my legs. It had to have been a dream. It seemed to have been filled with my darkest fears, and showed my family in the worst possible way – a family of monsters.

A slap sounded on my door and it opened. My cousin Sarah’s head appeared. “Not hungry?”

“Y-yes.”

“Going to hide all day?”

I opened my mouth but couldn’t figure what to start with. Memories of last night flooded my brain (FC82). Sarah thrashing Mobby with a cricket bat. Oh God.

“If anyone asks… you were sleeping.”

I nodded.

“Even if they demand, or beat you for it… Understood?”

I nodded again. “M-Mobby?”

She left.

I jumped off the bed and folded my sheet. As dreams went it was the mother of all nightmares. I changed, brushed my teeth and ran to the dining room.

A quick scan of the room. No Mobby. The Mathans were missing. Appachan was angrily waving at the table and I sat next to Rita. She put a dosa on my plate and sloshed chutney next to it, some of it hitting the front of my kurta. I rubbed the spot. The men were discussing details for Sarah’s wedding (FC80) – lists and invites, and preliminary arrangements. I looked at the bookshelf in the study and wondered if Appachan’s stick still lay nestled in its cobwebs. I had worn a pair of jeans under my kurta, just in case my body met his cane. Roma’s elbow poked my breast, reminding me of my dosa.

******

The Mathans didn’t leave their room the whole day, though I saw Sarayumama come out during meals, and at one point crying near her mother. I stayed out of sight, but within sight, and did my chores.

Later in the day, while standing near my guava tree, our neighbour from down the road came through the gate. Dr Lal waved at me and went into the house. I stayed near the guava tree as it was near the Mathans’ room. I heard voices, but was too scared to peep through the half curtain. Romeo skulked near my legs and I picked him up. At that moment, Sarayumama appeared in the window and her face turned vicious. “Spying on us! You good for nothing!” She slammed the windows shut. An involuntary laugh bubbled up because my aunt had to bang the windows together several times as the wood had expanded and wouldn’t close.

I balanced my bum on the narrow ledge below the Mathan family’s windows. The wall behind my back was cool and though I could not hear anything, I felt hanging about was a way of showing my aunt my middle finger.

Some time later the doctor came out and was near the gate, when he glanced my way and began to walk across the gravel. “Hi, mol, you’re from Bombay, yes?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Sarayu Aunty said you hit Mobby with a cricket bat. Is that true?” he said it with a smile.

“No!” I was shocked.

“Do you walk around the house at night?”

“Y-yes. But that doesn’t mean I hit Mobby!”

“No-no. Sometimes the ideas Sarayu Aunty gets. But did you see anything at night?”

“No-no. I watched a movie and then went to bed,” I embellished. I felt the kind eyes bore into me. “W-What’s wrong with Mobby?”

“Someone gave him a good whacking. Looks like someone strong.”

I shook my head in disbelief. It was just my luck. Someone else did the crime and I was being blamed for it. “Is-Is he badly hurt?”

“Not really.”

“Has he been broken?” I said in my stressed state.

Dr Lal chuckled. He pushed his round spectacles further up his nose. “Luckily not. But he has some deep bruises. By the way, which of your family lives in Bangalore?”

“Er, Georgiechyan. Appa’s oldest brother. Why, Doctor?”

“I’m moving there for work.”

“Oh.”

“Feeling bad I’m going to leave?”

“Of course.” Not quite true, but who cared.

“Which of the kids are Georgiechyan’s?”

“Sarah chechi and Rebecca chechi. She’s studying in the US.”

His head moved up and down. “Yes, I know her.” He gave a quick smile. “Okay, got to run. Don’t watch too much TV at night, and sleep latest by 12.”

“Er, why are you telling me this? Did someone complain about me?”

“No. It will regularise your sleep pattern,” he grinned.

I watched the goodlooking doctor walk away. I should have been happy he spoke to me, but I felt unsettled. Worse, my cousins were pressed into the bars of the sitting room window, watching.

“Hey, you. What was Dr Lal talking to you about?” my cousin Shyla asked. She and Nina were watching the doctor drive away.

I shrugged and disappeared around the wall. There would be too many questions, and I had no answers.

****** 

In a couple of days, Sarah and I knew we had been marked.

No one talked to us, including her parents. And my parents, not publicly.

My mother had it out with me. “You beat Mobby?” there was disbelief on her face. My father was pacing up and down our bedroom. I shook my head.

“I understood you using the sling for self defense (FC72), but you don’t have to beat up people you don’t like. And Mobby has some bad injuries.”

“I didn’t hit him!”

“But you know what happened and aren’t saying! Did Sarah tell you to keep quiet? Or is this some misguided effort at avoiding punishment. Whether you tell the truth or not, everyone thinks you are guilty.”

I wanted to protest, but uncannily my mother had touched on the truth. She had to have some sort of inner vision. I glanced at my father, who had stopped pacing, but his lips were squeezed together and jutting out, and a deep frown accompanied the look. I looked at Amma.

“Don’t you realise you have to accept the consequences of your actions… that you have to think of the effects before they occur? And beating someone is unacceptable.”

When I didn’t say anything, Amma said, “Appachan and Ammachi are very angry. I don’t know what your grandfather will say to you, but he has said a number of hurtful things to Appa.” My head sunk lower.

“Go and apologise to Mobby. And find a way to make amends. Don’t let me find you beating anyone again. What is it with your midnight roaming,” Amma shook me and stopped when Appa cleared his throat. “You don’t stay awake at night in Bombay. Why are you doing it here? All the family is talking about it. I get a lecture about you every day from Sarayu chetathi, ‘she did this, she did that, she has no manners’… do you think I like hearing this nonsense?”

I had stopped listening at ‘Go and apologise to Mobby’. Was Amma mad? I didn’t do anything to the ass, but he got what he deserved! But looking at my raging mother, I felt it best not to say so. She pinched my arm in frustration and left the room.

I rubbed the tender area and looked at Appa from the corner of my eyes. He too left the room.

I thought about it a bit. How was I going to keep out of trouble when it came unbidden, despite my best intentions.

I stayed put in my room until there was silence in the corridor and I couldn’t hear anyone further away. I slipped out through the front door, closing it carefully. I had seen Sarah oiling the latch a couple of weeks ago, but had only made the connection the night I saw her stealing out of the house with a backpack (FC78, FC79).

I whistled long and low, feeling the afternoon heat even though I was standing under the guava tree. Sitting was not an option – the large red ants roamed all over the guava tree and around it. I had to keep stamping my feet, gently and as noiselessly as I could, to dislodge them. The day was nice though. A breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, making them shiver and emit that lovely shushing noise. Even the birds seemed to stay quiet to listen. No wonder Appa loved this place so much. There were mangoes in the trees, but unripe. A blue bird swooped into a tree nearby and I stayed still hoping it wouldn’t fly away quickly. When it flew away I whistled again for my favourite bird. Romeo, my rooster boy, usually came running at my call. Maybe he had more tasty bits to eat today. One of my cousins had started feeding the kitchen’s vegetable waste to the hens. An aunt had remarked to Amma that the eggs had started tasting different and could it have been the birdfolk’s new diet.

I crept as close to the back of the house, where the shed was, and whistled for Romeo. I saw my cousins washing clothes and Sonimol chechi, the servant and Mobby’s ‘girlfriend’, collecting firewood. She gave me a dirty look and walked away quickly. I saw Roma through one of the windows. “Hey, open the front door for me.”

She came close to the window and opened her mouth to say something, but shook her head and closed it. I rushed around the house to the front door. She opened the door and moved away into the kitchen immediately. Odd. I went back to my room. I didn’t understand it. Ammachi no longer had work for me and I was now sitting in my room most of the time.

I stayed there until I heard the call for dinner.

******

I entered the dining room, and the room turned silent. People looked up and then looked away. My grandmother and Sarojmama were looking at me coldly, but Sarayumama was sitting where I normally sat, smiling at me. I felt repulsed, and a little afraid. Most of the family were looking at each other or looking through me. My grandmother had made her chicken curry, and the delicious fragrance was all over the room. But now this room full of people intimidated me. My mother stood with her sisters in law – her eyes and nose red. She was looking at my father, who was sitting stony faced at the end of the table. My eyes went to Pilipochyan and it was blank.

“Sit quickly,” Appachan said gruffly.

I sat next to Rita and it was a squeeze because of Sarayumama. We bent our heads in prayer, and Appachan thanked the Lord for our food. I looked around, wondering why no one was reaching for the food. Even the aunts were standing still and not serving. My grandfather rectified that when he glared at my grandmother and she started bustling.

But next to me, my aunt was ladling the thick dark naadan chicken curry into my plate. I wondered which chicken they had killed today.

My aunt smiled at me and put rice and vegetables on the side. She was behaving so strangely.

I looked around. My grandfather was eating, but casting glances my way. I slowly squeezed some curry and rice into a ball and was raising it to my mouth when I noticed Rita staring aghast. “Why aren’t you eating, Rita? What happened, baba?” Rita’s sudden tears frightened me. I put my left arm around her shoulders, and whispered, “What happened, why are you crying?” There was no food on her plate. Nor in Roma’s. Nor in Pilipochyan’s or my father’s. Appa was… in a cold rage.

But Rita wouldn’t stop crying. And… Roma’s head was down, tears falling into her plate.

“Eat your food, mol, Ammachi’s curry is excellent,” Sarayumama said from next to me, looking happy.

I nodded and tore a piece of chicken off its bone when Rita’s hand grabbed mine. “D-d-don’t e-e-eat ith.”

My aunt grabbed Rita’s hand and threw it away. “Eat your food now!”

I hesitated, an awful sense of foreboding creeping into my being. Something was totally off. Why was this hateful woman being nice… now? And why was everyone quiet. Even Appachan was not eating the curry, and he loved this particular dish.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh-ho. Why?”

Maybe you poisoned my food. But there was curry in some plates. Why did Mobby look happy. From the corner of my eyes I could see Sonimol chechi in the dining room, watching. She never came into this room when we ate.

I pushed my plate away. “No.” I got up. But instead of shouting at me to sit down and eat my dinner, my grandfather ignored me and continued to eat. Sarayumama grabbed my arm and forced me into my chair. I looked at my father, his face was furious, “Sarayuchechi, let her go. You’ve punished her enough.”

“When she’s eaten the curry, I’ll forgive her.”

What the hell were they talking about. Suddenly my aunt was stuffing pieces of chicken and rice into my mouth.

“No, no, no, chechi, don’t eat it. they’ve killed Romeo and cooked him. She’s forcing you to eat him!” Rita screamed in my ear, shoving away Sarayumama’s hand from my mouth. Killed Romeo and cooked him? My aunt’s fingers were in my mouth, pushing the food right in, and I bit down as hard as I could to stop her. Someone pounded my back hard, while Rita and Roma jumped on me trying to push our aunt away. Sarayumama screamed in pain, punching the side of my head and my shoulders to release her. When I was sure I was going to vomit because of the blood from her fingers, I opened my mouth. But her screaming didn’t stop.

All around me was chaos, people shouting, chairs falling backwards. I saw Appa trying to reach me, but Bobby and his father physically holding him back, and them scuffling. I felt none of it, heard none of it, only feeling a growing horror. I tried walking out of the room, but bodies blocked my way. My grandfather had the long stick in his hand, there were no cobwebs on it. He swung it at my legs and I stood still. I heard his sons begging him to stop, but it was Pilipochyan who stood in front of me. The thin long stick hit him once and there was immediate silence. I tried to look around me, at the plates. I wanted to know who was eating my Romeo. Traitors, all of them. Bastards.

I opened my mouth to tell my grandfather about his precious Mobby and Sonimol chechi’s night-time rendezvous, but Pilipochyan’s hand gripped my shoulder and pulled me close. “You cannot take back anything you say… you will always regret saying what you did in the heat of this moment. Best to leave it unsaid, mol.”

Sarah pulled me away, pushing through the family angrily. “Shame on you for killing an innocent, and tormenting another. And shame on you for enjoying it all!” 

She took me to her room.

That night I slept in my cousin’s bed, hunger gnawing my stomach, and crying for my beloved Romeo. I hated them all.

                                                                 ******

This series is fictional and follows the narrator who is remembering events related to a family vacation in Kerala during her childhood. 

The family is punishing the cousins for their midnight attack on Mobby (FC82). Unfortunately, quite harshly.  

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

                                                                 ******

#fiction #keralasyrianchristians #lifeinakeralavillage #FishyChronicles #mumbaimalayalis #malayalam #clandestinelove #love #rooster #romeo #chicken curry #naadanchickencurry

Fishy Chronicles 81: The Webs We Weave (13): Trouble in threes

Following my cousin Sarah’s pen kaanal (viewing of a prospective bride, FC80), I was buttonholed by my cousin sisters who felt I had some inside information.

Of course, I couldn’t tell… because I hadn’t had an inkling of what had been going on or what was going to happen.

But thereafter the vibes in my grandfather’s house turned positive. Everyone seemed excited and happy. Only there was a fly in the ointment. In a manner of speaking.

It seemed Sarah’s parents, my father’s oldest brother Georgiechyan and his wife Anniemama, had dragged their feet in telling their younger daughter about Sarah’s betrothal. My uncles and aunts hinted at it, and finally it took a sarcastic joke from Sarayumama for my uncle to make that call.

Only someone beat him to it.

For a few days, I wasn’t able to pin down Sarah chechi. And somehow I felt she didn’t want me to. I tried to stick as closely to her as possible, leaving home to go to church with her on Sunday morning. At church I saw a cute boy and sat in a spot where I could watch him without getting noticed – I stared straight at the Achen (priest) but could see the boy without turning my face.

Of course, I stopped thinking he was cute the instant his right index finger pushed into his right nostril and then rooted around his left. I concentrated on the Achan. After the blessing, I saw not-so-cute-boy-now stick the fingers of his right hand into the lamp of holy oil and smear it on his forehead. It took a hard shove from one of my cousins for me to go near the lamp. I dipped my fingers in the opposite side of the lamp. I glared at the boy’s back, but lost interest when Sarah and one of Johnny’s cousins bobbed into view. They seemed to be sharing pleasantries near one of the church’s side entrances. Sarah turned her head to look into the church and started when our eyes met. She immediately began walking towards the church’s main gate.

I ran after her, “Wait, Sarah chechi,” I said after I thought my cousin was going to attempt a sprint. 

“Got to get home.”

“To cook?” 

My cousin stopped at my sarcasm. “Hmm. You’re right. Why hurry.”

“You took the crossword!”

“So I did.”

Was I hearing right? “Why did you tear it out of the newspaper?”

“I don’t tear crosswords. I do them and return them to the pile.”

I looked at her in disbelief. “So why should the crossword you worked on with Johnnychyan just disappear… whe-when it hasn’t disappeared ever.”

“I find it strange too.”

I felt frustrated. “Do you think Pilipochyan read it?”

“Why would he tear it out?”

“It may have been incriminating… if someone were to read it.”

“What’s incriminating in crossword clues.”

“Yes. I’m wondering that too.”

“Keep wondering. But don’t waste too much time on it.”

I stopped following Sarah. Clearly she was going to stonewall me. So, I dragged my feet and walked behind Sarah, who turned around and grinned at me every now and then.

At home, I was changing out of my Sunday clothes and saw my mother’s bible on the dressing table. A sliver of a newspaper was sticking out. My mother’s Bible sometimes held letters she wanted to read several times, before they were either stored or destroyed, and her grandfather’s obituary. She took it out occasionally while reading the Bible in the mornings, stared at his face and quickly slipped it into the back.

No one would think of touching or looking through Sarah’s Bible. But would she keep the crossword there?

I peeped through her doorway. My cousin was shutting the door in my face, getting ready to change into her home clothes. I couldn’t see her Bible.

I couldn’t go sneaking into my Uncle’s room or open cupboards. This time I had to kill my curiosity.

                                                    ******

That day I got to stay up all night – legitimately. My grandfather, in a mellow mood, allowed me to watch a movie. Everyone had gone to bed and I had begged him. He waved his hand at me, smiled and said, “Keep the volume low, don’t let Ammachi… or Sarayumama… hear.” I had smiled eagerly and nodded.

The movie was in a language I couldn’t understand – Korean or Japanese – but it had subtitles. So I switched off the lights and stretched out on the red sofa to watch. Only when the movie ended, my mind wandered and I dreamed of cute boys and mean girls. I slipped off the sofa and lay on the cool floor, basking in a pool of moonlight, dozing, feeling too lazy to get up and go to bed.

Until I heard one of the doors open.

I hesitated, wondering if I needed to hide – after all I had taken Appachan’s permission to linger past my bedtime. But what if it was Mobby… going to meet Sonimol chechi (FC74).

I crawled quickly behind the curtain nearest the bookcase – which was mercifully free of dust now because everything in the sitting room had been washed before Johnny’s family had turned up to meet Sarah. I let out a breath. It was Sarah creeping forward. I had to stop this midnight meandering – it was not good for my nerves.

Sarah sat on the red sofa and picked up the telephone. She unlocked the phone with the number code and began to dial. She dialled a couple of times and then the voice came through. Sarah and her sister Rebecca spoke. In the silence of the night, I could hear the conversation clearly from where I stood.

“Who is he?” Rebecca asked.

“Johnny, a guy from church. Works in Mumbai.”

“You’re okay with it?”

“Yes. He’s nice. Different. Cool. Plus, he kind of proposed, only there was no privacy with Miss Slingshot about. She almost, almost figured out what was going on.”

Rebecca laughed and said something rude about being more intelligent than necessary. I was beginning to get worked up at the name calling and the insults, when Sarah said, “We have too many stupid cousins. A sensible girl is a welcome change.”

“Hmph. Too smart for her own good.”

“You mean too dumb not to hide it,” both girls laughed. What did that even mean?

Suddenly, Sarah was slamming the phone down and charging towards me. She bumped into my body and gave a short scream. It took a couple of seconds for her eyes to make out it was me and then she was behind the curtain with me, whispering furiously, “You idiot! What are you doing here!”

“Shhh!”

We held our breaths. Through the curtain, we could see Mobby enter the sitting room and look about slowly. He looked like a shady lothario in the moonlight. Tonight he had taken the trouble to dress – he was in a light blue torso-hugging t-shirt and a pair of trousers – not his usual nightclothes. Maybe he was going to flirt today.

When he moved into the store room, two hands gripped my upper arms, making me gasp with pain. “What is he up to?” Sarah demanded.

“No idea, Chechi.”

“Bullshit.”

“Aiyyo, Chechi, don’t swear.”

I thought she would hit me, but then I heard a chuckle. “Tell me the truth.”

“I don’t know, Chechi.”

“Liar. You know everything. Where is he going?”

“You should check.”

“He's going out?”

“Maybe he’s going to take a leak.”

“There’s a toilet next to his room.

“Oh.”

“Is he going out to smoke?”

“Maybe. Sure. Probably.”

My cousin was glaring at me, behind the curtain. Good. Tit for tat.

But maybe a dose of Sarah was what Mobby needed. “Let’s follow him,” I said in a hoarse whisper.

“Why?”

“He shouldn’t be creeping about at night.”

“Just like you shouldn’t.”

“Nor you.”

Another chuckle. And silence. This was a Sarah thing -- her silence made people blurt out stuff they wouldn't ordinarily. I focused on a spot over her shoulder and let my mind empty its thoughts -- now I understood what my yoga teacher meant. Some moonlight squeezed through the curtain's weaves and I waited for Sarah to blink. She snorted and threw the curtain off herself. She reached out and twisted my ear hard.

“OUCH!” I held my ear tightly. She could inflict more pain than Ammachi!

“That’s for lying,” Sarah said coolly.

“Pot calling kettle black!”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean,” I mimicked. “Miss Slingshot almost figured it out. So you and Johnnycha were writing messages to each other on the crossword. How convenient that I didn’t know how to read Malayalam.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t know how to read Malayalam. Three days on you still don’t know the language.”

I took deep breaths, while my cousin held her stomach and laughed silently. I started walking away. Sarah grabbed my wrist. “We’ll wait and see what Mobby is up to.”

“Strange you would want to spy on him when you don’t like anyone knowing anything about you,” I grumbled, trying to break Sarah’s hold. Finally I gave up and stood still.

“You’re right, mol. Ordinarily I would have called someone a hypocrite for such behaviour.”

“And?”

“And I think it is fishy for Mobby to lurk about at this time of the night. Also, I did not hear the kitchen door or store room door open, or the back door. The keys are usually with Ammachi.”

“She keeps them under her pillow.”

“Did she give them to Mobby?

“No. She doesn’t trust anyone with them. Not even Sarayumama or Sarojmama.”

“No spares?”

“Yes. With Appachan.”

“The fortress we can’t conquer.”

I stayed silent. Appachan and I had been having a rapprochement of sorts and he did let me watch a late-night foreign-language movie. I could not diss him so easily.

Sarah put her arm around me and pulled me into a quick surprise hug. “Shall we go and see what Mobby Prick is up to?”

I started, wondering if Sarah had figured my rude pet name for Mobby and was toying with me. Or maybe we thought the same way about our cousin.

I knew what Mobby was up to. But I was curious about Sarah’s reaction.

We started moving to the middle storeroom’s doorway. I told her to remove her slippers so that we didn’t make noise. She grinned, “You’ve got experience, mol.”

“I’m sleepy. I’m going to bed.”

Sarah grabbed me and held me still. I tried to stay pokerfaced. She needed me. And she didn’t want to do this alone. She let go of me and put her slippers in the pile near the doorway.

We heard the faint sounds of the latch on Sonimol chechi’s door tapping twice and Sarah stiffened and her eyes bulged in shock. We could see because of the weak light in the work room leading to the kitchen and to Sonimol chechi’s room. The room had large windows, which were closed at night, and a long bench at the side. At one end was a toilet and the servant’s room next to it.

Sarah was racing through the storeroom towards the light. I heard the door to Sonimol’s room open, low murmurs and sudden kissing noises, the door creaking open wider and then shutting. I felt dread. Things seemed to have progressed since I last intercepted Mobby (FC74). We heard giggles and a shushing noise. I reached the door. Sarah was outside it, standing still. Then she put her ear about a centimetre from the door, listening. As I approached, she straightened, her body stiff, her hands stuck to her sides and her fists curled tightly. When I looked at her, I felt frightened.

I caught her arm and shook my head. I pulled her away. She shook my arm off when we were in the storeroom. “What!”

“If you tell or make a noise, they’ll only blame Sonimol chechi.”

“They’re both in the room. That means both will have to face the consequences.”

“No one will punish Mobby. But Sonimol chechi will be sent home… and her family is very poor.” I had done some thinking. I had talked to Sonimol chechi and knew that she was the only person in her family working, her mother was ill, her father was dead and she had a little sister in school.

Sarah shook me off and marched to Sonimol chechi’s door. I grabbed her waist and tried to pull her back, she turned around and we began to wrestle. We lost our balance and fell on the bench and it, and we, started falling forward. The bench pushed backwards and slammed into the wall. Sarah pushed her body into it, her knees pressing into the ground and her body leaning backwards to hold the bench still. We untangled slowly, awkwardly, and set the bench back upright as quietly as we could. We held our breaths. The noises inside Sonimol chechi’s room had stopped and the light had been switched off.

We straightened and waited. Sarah pushed me backwards, but I resisted. So we went back into the storeroom.

“I’m going to stay there a bit. You go back to your room, mol.”

“No, Chechi, I beg of you! Ammachi will send Sonimol chechi back. They might beat her. Mobby is a bastard and will have just had his fun. No one will punish him.”

“Shhh! Appachan will wake up,” she pointed at his door, which we could see from where we stood in the storeroom.

“I’m not going.”

She tried pushing me out of the storeroom, but I resisted. She lifted me and tried to carry me out into the corridor, but I jammed my feet against either side of the doorway and we struggled, not making any headway.

“You junglee,” Sarah  muttered. “How did you become such a boy!”

I didn’t respond. When I continued to disobey, my body suspended in mid air, she eased her hold on me.

“We need a plan,” Sarah said.

“What?”

“We get him out and end it.”

Duh. “How?”

“You let me handle it.”

I laughed.

“Shhh! You nutcase. Do you have a better idea?”

“I do. But it involves violence. Can’t you think of anything?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want anything to happen in there,” her thumb pointed behind her.

“What might happen?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but shut it. I knew Mobby was in there for sex. But maybe Sarah thought a romance was still in the process. 

“Let’s listen through the door,” I suggested.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not for little kids.”

Yeah, right. I ran past her and back to Sonimol’s door. Now I could hear whispers. I waited and felt Sarah next to me.

We stood on either side of Sonimol chechi’s door, staring at each other and keenly listening to the silence in the closed room. I wasn’t going to leave until Sarah did.

It was a long wait.

                                                     ******             

This series is fictional and follows the narrator who is remembering events related to a family vacation in Kerala during her childhood. 

Her cousin Sarah refuses to divulge the secret behind the missing newspaper crossword. But things get out of hand with the narrator's night-time rambling. 

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

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#fiction #keralasyrianchristians #lifeinakeralavillage #arrangedmarriage #penkanaal #FishyChronicles #mumbaimalayalis #crossword #malayalam #koreanfilm #japanesefilm #foreignlanguagefilm            

 

Fishy Chronicles 78: The Webs We Weave (10) – Breaking point (cont'd)

Photo by A. Peter

For a few days (FC 77), Sarah chechi and I were cold to each other.

I took care to sit in her line of vision, nonchalantly looking out of the window and offering her a view of my side profile. Sometimes we’d make eye contact and she would move away quickly, her mouth tightening. After a while I didn’t take it personally because she refused to talk to any of her cousins, and when she was free of chores she disappeared.

I was angry with her for humiliating me publicly. I wanted to seek comfort from my parents, but they were likely to tick me off for being party to the girls giving Bobby the hiding of his life – even though I hadn’t touched a hair on his head. The more I thought of it, the more I felt I had asked for it.

In any case, I had no time to pfaff on narrow windowsills. Ammachi had given Sarah chechi and me more housework than the others. I was surprised when Sarah chechi buckled down to work, but some days I could see her blocking her father Georgiechyan’s path and talking heatedly.

My lack of clarity was cleared in snatches of my parents’ pre-bed time conversations. They usually talked and laughed when they thought I was asleep. I breathed evenly under my sheet, turned away from their bed, watching my parents’ shadows move against my wall – their shapes and movements difficult to decipher because of the shadow of a tree’s branches.

“Georgie is worried Sarah will do something silly,” Appa said of his oldest brother.

“Like what?” Amma said after a pause.

The bed creaked. I sensed my father trying to look at my mother in the dark. Appa said, “What has Annie chetathi* been saying to you?” Anniemama was Sarah chechi’s mother.

Amma sighed. “Sarah has been talking to Chetathi’s parents. They are not happy with her scuttling a marriage proposal, that’s why Sarah is still here.”

My father was silent. I was shocked. Sarah chechi going to her other grandparents’ home without informing the family or asking for permission was the ultimate act of disobedience.

“So, what are they planning to do?” Appa asked.

“Her grandparents have asked her to meet the boy, to talk to him. If she doesn’t like him they won’t press her.”

“Annie said that?”

“Ye-es.”

“But Georgie is like a bulldozer! Quiet and all, but won’t take no for an answer.”

“If she doesn’t like the boy, she can say no.”

“Hah!” Appa threw off his sheet and paced the floor close to the window. His shadow bobbed against the grills on my wall and then he stopped. He was leaning his head against the window’s bars.

Amma slid off the bed and joined Appa. “I’ve met the boy. We know everything about the family. They’re not poor – just less affluent than this family… it’s not going to matter to Sarah.” Amma’s shadow moved suddenly. They were in a complicated position.  It looked like she had Appa in a headlock – no, their heads were next to each other’s.

“We’re looking for someone good. Sarah should have a choice – choices that other girls are getting. A chance to study, work – a say in her life.” My father turned towards me and stared. I stared back at his shadow, holding my breath. “He may be just like every other guy – a chauvinist who won’t see how special Sarah is. A chauvinist who expects only a well-kept home and children.”

“Maybe.”

Their voices lowered and they whispered furiously. Then they went to bed. I felt frustrated at the way the conversation ended.

I waited to sleep, but couldn’t. So, finally, I sneaked out of the room. I sat on the red rexine sofa in the sitting room after moving it backwards so that it was hidden in the shadows of the sitting room. I listened to the noises of the night. There had been a burglary a few houses away a couple of nights ago. No one had known. What did it feel like to have an intruder creeping in and taking your things? Everyone had said that the family was lucky that only objects had been stolen and the family had been unharmed. I shivered and lay back to watch the moon.

******

I jumped up, my heart racing. Footsteps moved slowly – they were coming from the corridor. I slipped off the sofa and crouched next to the book case, gently moving the curtain over me.

I didn’t think it was my cousin Mobby. He had not been to visit Sonimol chechi for some days. I held my breath – it was Sarah chechi. She was in the old kurta she slept in and came forward hesitantly. I held myself as tightly as I could in a ball and squeezed my eyes shut. But nothing happened for a long time.

When I did peep around the curtain, the phone was in Sarah chechi’s lap and her hand on the receiver. After much thought, she lifted the receiver and began to press the buttons.

She seemed to know the number code Appachan (grandfather) used to lock the phone from unnecessary use – and to control his phone bills. The dial tone sounded in the clear silent night, but no one picked up. I felt suffocated by the dusty curtain, but my heartbeat pounded hard in my ears as I watched Chechi. She cut the line and tried again. And again. And again. Finally, she put the phone on the side table, crumpled over and began to cry.

When she had composed herself, she tapped the locking code into the phone and walked back to her parents room, dejection showing in every line of her body.

******

Roma was sitting on a low stool in the shade of a tree, sifting through a large quantity of raw rice on a rattan tray. Most of the girls were weeding or sweeping the area around the house that did not constitute the fields – almost two-thirds of a football field.

The girls were angry because Roma and Rita had escaped punishment, while the rest of us were given more chores – apparently to sear the gravity of our crimes into our souls for eternity. We believed their roles in Bobby’s hiding were ignored because Joychayan, their father, was our grandfather’s favourite son, and, hence, Joychayan’s children were Appachan’s favourite grandchildren.

It was what the adults felt too. If Appachan had to go to the market and choose between his grandsons, it was a given that Rajiv would be chosen. In a way, it assuaged some of my bitterness – at least, Mobby and Bobby weren’t Appachan’s favourites. It also meant Rajiv spent most of his time with his sisters and female cousins because the guys teased him mercilessly and left him out of their activities.

Today, Nina and Shyla were washing several buckets of clothing. Normally the clothes were washed by the servants. Over our last few vacations, Ammachi had begun to make the girls wash their own clothes. We had to know the A-Z of housekeeping and our mothers weren't teaching us enough, she told us often. But this week, we had been made to wash the entire household’s clothes in turns, despite our bitter protests. Roma and Rita were given light chores. Yesterday they disappeared for much of the day. When they appeared, Appachan asked them how the movie was and we realised Joychayan had taken his family out to watch a movie.

It stunned the rest of the family and there was a sudden silence in the room. This was unusual behaviour and there seemed to be a malaise seeping into the household. For once, I had nothing to say. My best friend Roma was a treacherous traitor. I fumed silently, but my cousins vented to their parents.

“You got away with murder,” Nina raged at Roma (see why here).

Roma flicked a small stone out of the rattan tray with her index finger, ignoring Nina. I was pulling out weeds in a corner of the yard and stopped to watch my cousins. Both Nina and Shyla threw the washing into the buckets and stood over Roma, shouting at the top of her head. Rita fled into the house. But there was no response from Roma and the finger continued to flick out impurities in the rice at a steady pace.

All of us stood dumb. The silence was broken when Ammachi came to the kitchen window and yelled at us to get back to work. When Ammachi disappeared, Nina began to pull out soapy clothes from one bucket and threw them into an empty bucket. She kicked the bucket under the tap and watched the water gush.

“What are you doing?” Shyla said.

“I’m rinsing them.”

“You haven’t scrubbed the clothes.”

“Who cares. I’m not going to wear them.”

“But, but, but… the dirt will show!”

“Not immediately.”

Shyla moved closer, whispered in Nina’s ear and glanced at Roma. Nina shrugged her shoulders, punched the soapy clothes a few times – ostensibly an effort at rinsing them – and let the water run out of the bucket. She looked up and summoned me with her index finger. She eyed the clothes and her gaze turned to the clothesline across the back yard. She wanted me to hang up the clothes. I took one shirt and squeezed. Suds oozed like a white waterfall. I looked up at Nina chechi, but she smiled and pointed at the clothesline.

“Just hang it up, mol,” Nina said. Don’t bother to squeeze out the water. Let’s see how long it takes to dry, she mouthed and grinned, pointing at Roma’s downturned head and giving me a thumbs up. Though her head was still down, Roma’s body was stiff. Her index finger had stopped moving.

At first I was bothered, but then I thought it was diabolical. Unless Roma squealed, it would take the family some time to realise how little cleaning their clothes got. I began to hang up the dripping clothes. During Kerala’s monsoon, and in our closed airless home, clothes usually took two days to dry in the store room. This was going to be longer now.

In about 10 minutes, Nina, Shyla and I put all the clothes on the clotheslines. One line broke a couple of times with the weight of the wet clothes and finally we draped some of the clothes on the sides of the well, weighing the clothes down with large rather muddy rocks.

******

Over the next few days, the girls practiced covert disobedience. We did all our chores quickly and, inevitably, badly. If reprimanded, we stayed quiet or admitted to our mistakes. At first, Ammachi looked at us suspiciously and our mothers gaped in disbelief, but as time went on Ammachi began to forget what she was angry at us for. But she got tired of the shoddy work, and the extra chores stopped. It amused our mothers, who watched but didn’t give inputs.

I did get lectures about insolence and how I would get my just desserts one day, but finally Amma let it go.

Sarah chechi didn’t start talking, but as the day of the meeting with her prospective suitor approached she fought with her parents. Everyone chose to stay silent and kept out of the way. She didn’t give me a look and it troubled me, because now my embarrassment had worn off and I really wanted to be in my cousin’s good books again.

After my parents went to bed, I lay awake. I looked at the clock on the table – 12.35am – I heard a door open. There was one very large room abutting both our and the Mathans room – Georgiechyan’s. These several weeks I had never heard anyone from that room come out at night, except for my uncle and aunt. 

I waited until the footsteps fell silent and as gently as possible opened my door. I nearly died of fright, closing the door immediately. I saw Sarah chechi pass, taking very slow steps. I had shut the door while she was turning around to look and stayed pressed against the wall near the hinges.

I almost pissed when the door started to inch open. It was too late to dive under my sheet, under which I had arranged two cushions. I held my breath, squeezing my eyes shut in terror. Just then my father coughed hard and turned on to his side, and the door jerked shut. I threw myself onto my bed and scampered under my sheet, curling and staying still. Sarah chechi ran back towards her room and the footsteps stopped. My father’s shadow sat up and refused to lie back down. After an eternity he did, and in a couple of minutes began to snore.

Sarah chechi began to move along the corridor again. When the footsteps passed, I lunged for the door and peeped out. Sarah chechi disappeared from view at the end of the corridor. I ran towards the street light coming through the sitting room’s windows. She slid back the bolts of the front door without a sound – the results of my earlier diligent efforts (FC 70).

Sarah chechi was carrying a knapsack over one shoulder and walking quickly to the gate. I watched numbly as she opened the gate. When she was on the road, I grabbed a pair of slippers strewn near the front door and tried to walk lightly over the gravel. Despite this, it sounded like someone was crushing glass in the still night air. Sarah chechi was now near the sagging portion of the barbed wire fence, further along Appachan’s property.

She slipped into the field and disappeared behind a tree. In a few minutes she reappeared and started hurrying back – minus her knapsack. Once on the road, she looked around and broke into a run towards the house. I removed my slippers and raced back into the house to my bedroom door and waited. I heard the crunch of the gravel outside and then Sarah chechi’s shadow rushed into view through the sitting room’s open doorway. She closed the front door, slipped the bolts back into place, and tiptoed back to her room.

* Chetathi means older brother’s wife in Malayalam.

– Stay tuned for more of Sarah in the next episode.

******

This fictional series follows the narrator who is remembering events that occurred during a family vacation in Kerala, India, in her childhood. The Webs We Weave series begins with episodes FC 69, 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