Fishy Chronicles 86: The Webs We Weave (18) – An ending

I watched the shadow move. I had stopped being afraid of the shapes that danced on my wall at night, because I knew now that it was the tree’s branches moving gently – illuminated by the weak streetlight. I had conquered my fear of the shadows outside, but I stayed awake at night consumed by the shadows within.

I had remained in our bedroom every night since Romeo had been cut up and cooked into a curry (FC84). It was brutal and I couldn’t stop thinking of it. I missed my little feathered friend and avoided going to the guava tree now. I missed his kinship and the way he seemed to speak to me. 

In the day, I spent time next door with my grandfather’s brother Kunjappachan. But I had developed a nagging distrust, which I tried consciously to shrug off every time I understood what was happening. Appachan had been loving, a larger-than-life presence always. His sweet treats, taking his grandchildren out to the local market – we took turns as his car could only fit some of us at a time – bringing us flowers and cashew seeds from his morning rounds of his fields, his stories about his long-dead parents and other family. But in one swoop all that had changed for me, and watching things unfold – for some of my cousins too.

In a few weeks I had witnessed all of this family turn from Dr Jekyll to Mr Hyde. It was something I couldn’t wrap my head around. I felt myself hold back from simple interactions, wondering if the person I was talking to was secretly plotting evil against me. I couldn’t share my thoughts, I had to debate everything I wanted to say, how it would be construed, consider the backstories... eventually it felt easier to nod and keep quiet. It was all confusing and frightening. I clung to my parents, following Appa to the farm and drifting into the fields, much to Appachan’s irritation. I wanted to avoid the house, Ammachi, her daughters and my cousins at all cost. When I spotted my great uncle, I stayed close to him.

Every morning I swallowed my breakfast, doing my best to avoid eye contact with the others and then, while my grandmother was mid-sentence listing out my chores, I was out the door and at the gate next door. The day I was cornered, my father reluctantly blocking my path, Ammachi gave me an earful about being ungrateful and bad mannered and it being a sure-fire route to the gates of Satan’s vile quarters. It was tedious listening.

Just the previous night my father had given me a restrained lecture about good manners, and having to accept what had happened and moving on. We had had a bitter argument and I had demanded going to my mother’s parents’ home. When there was no let up, I burst into tears and the matter ended.

I looked at my parents – they were snoring. Their ritual night-time chats and light laughter had stopped – not that I had noticed. But I did notice that I had not heard any family gossip in a long time.

                                          ******

There was news at Kunjappachan’s house though. His eldest grandson was visiting from the US. He’d just got a job and his parents had insisted he meet his grandparents before he returned. I had met my cousin occasionally over the years, but we had little in common because of our age difference – except for being able to speak in English.

My great aunt and her daughters in law fussed over him – partly because he was so handsome and mostly because he enjoyed their attentions – and luckily his pants had elastic at the waist because his gaunt look had disappeared quickly. Every relative of ours that lived abroad usually returned to India ‘healthy’, a polite way of saying fat in Kerala, but in Roy’s case this was the reverse.

He was the brilliant cousin, who had studied at a tony university in Delhi and soon after gone off to do a PhD in the US. He was hot, according to my cousins. I had to agree, he looked chiseled and did not have a potbelly. And he was nice too. His face was mostly buried in the newspapers, his grandfather ordered some English magazines and newspapers just for him, and when he wasn’t reading he was either at our house or roaming around the village and fields.

When I did get over my awe of him, we chatted, played chess, and because I always lost we ended up playing draughts, Snakes and Ladders or cards. And after a while, I became aware that my older cousins would be there too.

One day, I pushed through the crush that had formed around Roy. I petted Petty the goat and then saw the glistening deep purple jamuns on the ground a little further on. Many had been trod on by the visitors, but some were in good condition nearer the bushes bordering the courtyard. I moved forward, picking up a coconut shell from near the cow shed to hold the jamuns.

From the low wall separating the two properties, I could see the men in my grandfather’s study, and an argument in progress. So what was new – my relatives only knew how to fight. When I asked Appa about this trait, he said they discussed politics. The snatches I had heard confirmed it, but once in a while they got heated and shouted their heads off about other things. One day it was about an old friend and some money. Another day one of the uncles was denying a smoking habit, and another day it was about one of their wives being treated rudely. But this seemed unlike any other argument. Anniemama, Sarah’s mother, was standing in the doorway of the study, her face pressed into her open palms.

Georgiechyan was looking down at someone and screaming blue murder and Appa and Joychyan were pulling him away. Suddenly Ammachi appeared at the windows, grabbing two shutters at a time and slamming them shut.

                                       ******

Georgiechyan and his family did not appear for lunch. I wondered what they were doing for food. They did not appear for evening tea either, even though the youngest kids were sent to knock at their bedroom door.

I was surprised Ammachi could spare a daughter in law, chores might be heaping up. Ammachi looked disturbed. Her daughters sat on either side and the only noises were of my cousins eating their food and bantering.

Inhaling the aroma of the etheka appams, I gave thanks for the extra snacks on my plate. The George family didn’t know what they were missing. 

                                         ******

I wiped the sweat off my neck with my hand. Ugh. The fan was spinning slowly over my parents and the air didn’t quite disperse into my corner of the room. The fluorescent dial of the clock on the bedside table showed 12.53am.

I debated getting up. Usually Sarah had her call with Johnny about now (FC80). It had become a prolonged nightly ritual, and was a pain because it coincided with a murder serial I had started watching. They were still not allowed to talk to each other, unless supervised, till their marriage some months away. As the family didn’t know that the two were speaking to each other, Sarah had sworn me to secrecy. The understanding was that I would not listen in on the call, and no one would know that I was watching TV on the sly.

For some reason Mobby had stayed firmly in his room since our night-time episode (FC81, FC82) … or else he was visiting Sonimol chechi later at night – after Sarah’s call and my serial.

What could I do this time of night? No movie and no night-time snacking – Ammachi had changed the padlock on her goodies cupboard. She still hadn’t figured out who had been making inroads into the snacks or that there were a few copies of the same key floating around. Sometimes we watched her open the cupboard to see her reaction. She thought someone was taking the key from under her pillow at night and couldn’t understand how she didn’t wake up.

I remembered the magazine Roy had given me. It was a political one but had a gossip column of sorts in the back. Plus, there was a Bollywood special in this issue – the only reason I had wanted to read it. I found a torch in the dressing table drawer, but it didn’t work. There were no batteries to be found either. The bedside clock yielded only the narrow pencil variety. I snuck out of our room and stood still in the corridor until my eyes got used to the darkness, and then followed the faint light from the street coming through the sitting room windows. 

I crept forward, the memory of Mobby’s thrashing coming to mind and I was mindful that I would get the same treatment were Sarah to catch sight of me. I still felt bitter at the thought of me being punished and Sarah getting away scot-free. For sure, Mobby and his parents were afraid of Sarah, else she would have been court martialed or locked up in the store room for a few days.

There was no noise coming from the sitting room. The call must have ended early. This was strange because lovers talked for an inordinately long time – as did Sarah and Johnny. I held back. Sarah was seated on the red sofa, staring into the distance. I leaned forward to see what she was looking at and could spot nothing in particular. The phone was next to her on the sofa. I hesitated, but then cleared my throat. It would be worse if I was caught spying.

Sarah didn’t seem to have heard. I went closer. She was holding herself stiffly, her hands by her side, her back straight but leaning forward and bathed in white streetlight. And then I saw a tear roll slowly down her face, with another dropping from her jaw. I began to move forward, but then remembered our pact and moved back into the corridor. I watched for a while, but she didn’t move or stop crying.

Finally I stood next to her and waited. She sat back against the sofa.

“What happened, Sarahchechi?”

There was a long sniff. And a shrug. But she still didn’t turn to look at me.

“Did… er… Johnnychacha call?”

She looked down at her hands.

“Er, chechi, did you guys have a fight?” I couldn’t remember ever seeing her cry.

She looked up and one side of her lips rose in a false smile. “No. We didn’t fight.”

“So?”

“His family called yesterday and ended the engagement. He hasn’t called me for several days.”

My breath stopped. “What?”

She stood up and brushed down her kurta, swaying. I caught her arm to steady her. “You’re joking, right, chechi?”

“Wrong, mol. I’m not joking,” she said with some force. “His uncle called up and said they did not want to proceed, th-that… Johnny had had second thoughts.”

I was stunned. My perfect brother in law. Now a never-brother. It was unbelievable. “But why? What’s wrong with you?”

It seemed a source of mirth for my cousin, and her lips thinned.

“You think it is funny?” I asked.

“You think I’m perfect?”

“Yes!”

“Even after pinching your ears and shouting at you?”

“… I think a guy would think you’re perfect.”

She snorted and sat, bending over, with her elbows on her knees and her face in her palms. I babbled, “I mean, you’re pretty, fair, and thin,” and you have brains, “and guys like that.” Guys didn't like brainy girls – beautiful yes, clever no. And after several weeks of Ammachi’s training and her grand plans for her granddaughters, Sarah knew how to keep house. That made her perfect.

I was putting my hand on her shoulder when I heard the savage swear word. I quickly pulled it away. “What now, chechi? … Er… The announcement was made in church… What will happen now?”

She shrugged.

I didn’t know what to make of it. But I did know most of my cousins had had ultra-short engagements, and been raced to the altar. Was this why our weddings occurred so quickly after an engagement – to kill the possibility of the union not happening? “Have you tried calling Johnnychyan?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He hasn’t picked up his phone for a few days. Since Wednesday.”

I felt horror seep through my being. It was the day before Romeo’s life was brutally snuffed out. “Y-y-you think it’s related?”

“What?”

“Feels like a coincidence.”

“What?”

“Romeo’s death and your engagement ending.”

“Don’t be silly, mol! There is no connection.”

“Or the same person who wanted Romeo dead, spread stories about you, enough to end your engagement?”

“What stories?”

“I don’t know.”

“Romeo and ‘this’ are not related.”

“How can you be sure. And why now, why not before your engagement?”

“I can’t be sure, but I don’t think anyone would break my engagement just because they were angry with me for something. It is too cruel.”

I could believe it. Anything was possible in this house filled with insane people. My cousin looked up, searching my face, “You don’t think so?” her voice broke and tears started falling again.

“Sorry, chechi, just me being paranoid.” I sat next to her and squeezed her hand. “Maybe Johnnycha will change his mind… and-and want to get back with you…” I wished I had a hanky because now my cousin’s face was twisted and red, and she was sobbing.

I held onto her for an eternity, begging God to ease my chechi’s misery. In that fell swoop, I realised that it wasn’t the engagement that mattered to my cousin – she had lost her heart to Johnny too. When she stopped crying, a long time later, we held hands and watched the street outside until the sky started turning pink and the streetlights were switched off. Then we went back to our rooms.

                                            ******

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

She is traumatized by the demise of her pet rooster, but it seems the malevolent force prevailing in her household isn't done with her and Sarah yet.   

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 #keralachristians #keralastories #kerala #keralavacation #keralafamilies #love #loss #brokenengagements #marriage #food #satan #clock #mobby #sarah #fishychronicles86 #grandparents #goat #rooster #Romeo #websweweaveseries #swearwords #beautifulwomen #mumbaimalayalis #malayalistories #chess #boardgames #snakesandladders #draughts #johnnyandsarah #spying #beautifulwomen #cleverwomen #prettywomen #savage

******

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 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.