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 83: The Webs We Weave (15) – Reckoning

I lay under my bedsheet, motionless. I feigned sickness when Appa told me it was time to get up. He felt my forehead, but let me sleep.

It was pointless though. Outside my bedroom door there was a commotion building steadily. I heard feet running up and down the corridor, raised voices, a door slam.

I pressed my hands to my ears, praying I could be transported elsewhere, cursing myself for interfering in things that always got me into trouble. It seemed I had no instinct for self-preservation.

While all these thoughts ran through my head, the electricity went off. I heard the fan creak to a stop and, when I could no longer take the heat and suffocation threw off the sheet to suck air into my lungs and cool my sweating face and body.

I had the fright of my life. Sarayumama was leaning over me, looking ready to kill me.

She bared her teeth and grabbed my shoulders in a vice-like grip, shaking me and screaming in my face about sins and crimes, her first-born baby, and etc, etc. I lost track because my brain hit my cranium too many times, and aimed only to get away from the spray of spittle from my aunt’s mouth.

Sarayumama suddenly let go and I fell backwards, hitting my head against the teak headrest of the bed. It hurt like hell but I stayed frozen, frightened to my core. When the haze lifted, I noticed my parents in the room and there was a babble.

But Sarayumama wasn’t done with me. She dug her short stubby red-painted nails into my shoulder and tried to tear out flesh. I pushed her hands away with effort. This enraged her more and she grabbed fistfuls of my nighty and hauled me off the bed. I tried my best to land on my feet.

“SARAYU!” 

My aunt’s hands became limp and I staggered back, my nightdress bunched up under my chin. I pulled it down, feeling conscious of my bare thighs and the family that had now grouped in the room and outside the bedroom door. I saw my cousins peeping in, mostly curious, fearful and… pitying.

“I told you I would deal with them,” Appachan (grandfather) said.

“She has been targeting my children since we came here.”

My grandfather took a slow deep breath, his eyes behind his glasses moving with exasperation from his older daughter to me.

“Look at her size and look at your sons!” Amma said. From the corner of my eye, I saw Appa’s head turn in her direction, immediately quieting her.

Appachan turned to look at my mother, and she lowered her head. He turned back. “Brush your teeth, eat your breakfast, and then come to my study.”

My chest squeezed. “W-why?”

A fist slammed the side of my head, and I staggered sideways. The room swung around me and I fell to the floor. Arms grabbed me, but I was conscious only of pain in the side of my head and face and the back of my head where the headrest had hit me. My mother was crying and my father was furious and standing with his arms spread wide in front of me, shouting.

When I felt my head steady somewhat people had swarmed into the room and Sarayumama was being hustled out of the door with difficulty by her siblings Sarojmama and Joychyan. My grandfather waved his cane about, roaring furiously at no one in particular, and my cousins Rita and Roma avoiding his cane came rushing to me.

I breathed slowly and kept my eyes closed, lying still on the floor to stop my head from spinning.

******

I cried in the toilet while I brushed my teeth. And then I raged at the memory of my aunt punching me. In the scarred bathroom window, the bruise on my cheekbone was turning maroon.

When I sat at the dining table, I could see my father, his siblings and their spouses standing uncomfortably in my grandfather’s study. The door leading from the study into the dining room was ajar and I sat as far away from it as possible. There was a steady whine, mostly by Sarayumama and her husband Mathanchyan.

I drank the cup of tea Elsa Aunty, Joychyan’s wife, gave me. She stroked my head gently and told me not to be afraid and put a couple of idlis on my plate. I cried some more. Rita put her arms around me and I felt her face wet against mine.

When Elsa Aunty went into the kitchen. Roma grabbed my chin, lifted the edge of her kurta and scrubbed my face dry. “Don’t let her hit you again! Jump out of the way. What got into you, didn’t you see it coming?”

“No.”

Despite being our aunt, Sarayumama had sometimes hit us when we were children. She prized the boys, especially her sons. The girls annoyed her. Her irritation increased whenever she saw her father return from his errands. His granddaughters would race to the gate to open it, even though the car was still about a half a kilometre away. They would mass around his car, opening the door for him, opening all the car doors and pulling out and carrying the packages into the house. The girls chattered all at once. The younger girls’ hands would be in his juba pockets, emptying it of loose change. Then he would open his wallet and pull out a large wad of low-denomination notes – notes he had especially arranged for at the market – and hand them out to the girls. He made a big production of looking through all the bags of groceries and then would go back to his car and carry back a large bag of toffees. There was usually a lot of laughter then, and all his granddaughters would sit around him, or on him, listening to how his day went. The older folks would sometimes leave their work to come and watch. Sometimes Appachan’s brother would come along, and he would call us his “little happinesses”.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

Roma pursed her lips. Rita’s small hands turned my face towards her. “Sarayumama said you and Sarahchechi beat Mobbychacha with a cricket bat.”

I was shocked. The tea I had just sipped went up my nose and I coughed into my sleeve. Roma beat my back and slapped the top of my head with her palm to help me tide over my coughing fit. She did not know how strong she was – it hurt like hell.

“Is it true?”

“No.”

“So, how did Mobbychacha get hurt?”

“What makes you think he got hurt?”

“Lal Doctor,” our neighbour down the road, "visited in the morning. Said nothing was broken, but Mobbychacha told him that he went for a drink of water at night and you two bashed him up.”

“B-But but why would we do that?”

Rita looked at Roma, and Roma slowly shrugged. Something made me shiver. I turned to look into the study. Mobby was looking at me with hatred and behind him, unable to see Mobby, Appachan gestured at me impatiently to enter the room.

Rita and Roma hung back behind me in the doorway, squeezing behind their father even though Appachan glared at them.

Appachan tilted his head at the corner where Mobby sat on a chair. He looked woebegone, probably for the audience’s benefit. My cousin Sarah was standing next to him, her face impassive.

Appachan pointed again at the spot next to her and smiled.

It disconcerted me. I remembered how he thrashed me those weeks ago, assuming I had been having an illicit rendezvous with my cousin Bobby (FC70). How coldly he had treated me thereafter.

I tried not to smile back. I felt fearful and looked at my parents – who looked anxious.

“So, mol, we were discussing your tendency to roam around the house at night,” Appachan said.

I opened my mouth, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Roma shake her head, and closed my mouth.

Appachan smiled, waited expectantly, and then sat further back in his chair. His eyes narrowed on me, looked at Sarah, and Mobby, and then returned to me. He put both his hands on the knob of his polished walking stick, balancing his palms one on top of the other. He swung the top of his cane around in a circular motion.

“Are you going to tell me what happened last night?”

I looked at him, surprised. Didn’t he know? Roma shook her head. That meant to tread cautiously – mostly to shut up.

“What happened last night?” I asked. An incredulous exclamation rose from somewhere in the room and people shifted positions nervously.

“Oho, you don’t know?”

I wondered when Appachan would use his stick to draw a coherent response from me. I shook my head.

“Can you explain what happened to your cousin Mobby?” Appachan waved his hand at his grandson. I stepped forward to look at Mobby properly. He looked angry. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and was covered from head to toe. I could see nothing that was a reminder of last night.

“What happened to him?”

“She’s lying, you-you liar!” Sarayumama shouted from somewhere behind me and I lurched in terror into Sarah. She steadied me and let me go. The family rearranged itself to block Sarayumama’s way.

Appachan leaned towards Mobby and pushed up his sleeve. His skin was blue and maroon. Mobby looked at me with even more hatred.

“Do you know how these got on his arm?”

I shook my head.

“Adi kittum!” Appachan said angrily. It translated to ‘you’ll get a beating’ in Malayalam.

I moved back a step and looked straight ahead. I wondered what Sarah had said. A quick look upwards and her face still showed no emotion. Why were they still asking questions?

“What were you doing outside your room at night?” Appachan asked again.

“Soo-soo. But I didn’t do that,” I tilted my head at Mobby, but looked at a growth on my grandfather’s neck.

“He said you beat him.”

“He’s dreaming, for sure.”

“Insolent child! Beat her, beat her!” Sarayumama shrieked, dramatically straining against her sister Saroj’s tight hold.

From the corner of my eyes I could see Roma shaking her head furiously. I couldn’t bear to look at anyone, so I kept my eyes pinned to the wall in front of me, where Pilipochyan, and Sarah’s parents Georgiechyan and Anniemama, stood. Sarah’s parents looked tense, but Pilipochyan had an encouraging look. I moved my eyes to a large damp smudge on the wall above them and kept it there.

“Are you not scared of the consequences of lying?” Appachan shouted.

Why was Appachan assuming I was guilty? “What makes you think I’m not telling the truth?”

“You are not!”

“Would you believe me if I did? You didn’t believe me when I told you Bobby grabbed my breast in the loft.” I heard gasps and ignored them. “Yet you thrashed me and treated me like a scoundrel. You assumed I was the guilty one. And when he did it again, you were okay with it.”

“He did it again…” Appachan looked shocked.

“You left me out when you bought the rings for everyone (FC73). You let everyone see it. Because you punished me, everyone did the same. If you want to believe me you can. But I’m not going to tell you something just because you think that’s what happened.”

I saw him lift the cane. “That’s right. Hit me… go on… hit me because you didn’t like what I said. Did you want the truth? How do you know whether anything I say is going to be the truth. Why believe me when all this time you haven’t been able to believe me.” I stopped because Sarah was shaking me.

“Really, Sarahchechi, tell him the truth. But can Appachan handle it?” I pulled myself out of Sarah’s grasp. I lunged at Mobby, slapped my palm as hard as I could on his lap and squeezed.

He howled in pain. The stick came down on my arm. I hopped in pain, oblivious to the sudden explosion around me. When the stick rose again and stopped, I looked furiously into my uncertain-looking grandfather’s eyes, “Scared, Appacha?” the stick stayed up a second and then came at me. I ran out of the way into the crowd, which was too dense for me to make an escape. I felt hands push me towards my grandfather, but smaller hands dragged me back. I saw my grandfather get up, using his stick to push himself forward, and snorted. The scene was priceless. I looked around, still in the moment, watching relatives snarl, my parents trying to get to me, my aunts and uncles holding back an apoplectic Sarayumama. Bobby’s hand grabbed my hair, I wondered if it would hurt. In a moment it did and suddenly I was free and stumbling sideways because a blow caught me on a shoulder.

Bodies fell on me in a sudden fracas and I felt suffocated. Had there ever been a sane person in this household? Someone was lifting me up by my ear. My grandmother! I had forgotten Ammachi! Sarayumama shrilly urged her to give me the hiding of my life. Ammachi was right handed and had to let go of my ear to hit me.

Too late, I darted back, again trying to squeeze through the bodies. I looked at my parents, my father was deathly still, but mostly upset. I stopped. Next to him, my mother was crying. I knew what it was. My father was upset I was running away. If I wanted to stay home to avoid a bully at school, he’d say, “Will you run every day?"

My dad, upset with everything happening around me, was more upset I was not facing it head on.

I felt dread but turned and walked back to Sarah’s side. The family quietened.

“Not trying to run?” Appachan said sarcastically. He was standing next to Sarah and glaring at us both.

“Where would I go?”

“You can hide in the rubber fields, under the guava tree… next door.”

“That is for lesser beings.”

I thought he’d beat me, but I felt a movement next to me. Sarah’s eyes looked at the floor, but her nostrils flared and her mouth was tightly pursed… trying to stifle a smile.

I had to ask the question. “Appacha, did you ask Mobbychyan why he was out of his room last night?”

“That is not the issue here. He is free to leave his room anytime.”

“I am not?” What inequity! Appachan opened his mouth to argue. “Why did he need to be out of his room at night?” I could see Mobby shift in his chair.

“He wanted to drink water.”

“There’s water in his room.”

“No. There wasn’t!” Mobby said.

“The jug was half full in the morning.” I hadn’t bothered to look, but went with it. There was usually water in the jugs in every room every morning.

“How do you know?” Appachan asked.

“I saw Bobbychyan throw the water out of the window in the morning.”

There was sudden silence. Everyone turned to look at Mobby’s younger brother Bobby. “Bobby?” My grandfather asked my cousin, shifting his body to face his grandson.

“Er, y-yes, A-Appacha. Er-er, n-no, no!” Bobby’s eyes darted to Mobby and back to Appachan.

“Yes or no.”

Bobby hesitated looking at Mobby. “No.”

“Liar,” it crept out of my mouth before I could stop it.

“You b…!”

“I’m what? Say it, Bobby. I’m a what? I’m a b-b-b-bottle of water?”

He stepped towards me, but looked around at the silent crowd and stopped.

Appachan’s stick rose, pointing at Bobby. “Stand where you are.” He turned to Mobby, “Why did you need to leave your room when you had water in your room.”

“Toilet.”

“Why did you say you went to drink water… several times. Stand up!”

Mobby stood up hurriedly. “I did go to have water, a-and to go to the toilet.”

“Tell me again what happened in the corridor.”

“Er, er, they saw me in the corridor… an-and they told me to go back to my room. And-and then, she,” Mobby pointed at me, “she took the bat and started hitting me. And then Sarahchechi took the bat and hit me. I begged her to stop but she didn’t.”

Grandfather was silent. After a long time, he moved to his chair and sat down.

I hated Mobby with every fibre of my being. Sarah was still, her mouth tight and eyes staring straight ahead.

When my grandfather continued to stay silent, I said, “Giving up?” So easily.

“Quiet!”

“I can’t. Not when someone is accusing me of something I didn’t do. Also seems the rules are different for different people.”

“Quiet, mol! Keep quiet!” this time it was my father from across the room, furious at me. I was angry, and close to tears. Your parents should be on your side. Apparently not. I looked ahead, and took a deep breath.

Appachan stood up. He felt on the top of the bookshelf and pulled out the thin length of stick that he used to threaten us with when we were younger but never used. Bits of cobweb clung to it. There was a gasp and a murmur. “Put out your hands!”

My hands curled into fists and stayed tucked tightly into my side. “Put out your hands!” Appachan screamed.

“Put out your hands, child. Hold it out,” people said around me.

Suddenly the stick whacked my legs. I flinched but held myself still. It stung bitterly, but the pain was blunted slightly by the kurta-salwar my mother had insisted I wear this morning.

My eyes filled and I felt sad. After two more quick lashes, Joychayan stood in front of me, his arms outstretched. “She’s a grown child, Appacha. Enough now. She’s learnt her lesson.”

“Go!” Appachan yelled at me, pointing at the study door. The crowd parted quickly and I turned my back on my grandfather and walked away.

******

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

Her grandfather believes the narrator and her cousin Sarah are responsible for causing injury to his grandson Mobby and is having it out with them. Things do not end well for her. 

Read the entire The Webs We Weave series here 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 #forbiddenlove              

 

Fishy Chronicles 82: The Webs We Weave (14) – Games people play

Sarah and I waited on either side of Sonimol’s door (FC81). My cousin Mobby was hiding inside the room with the servant because we had surprised him in the middle of a night-time rendezvous.

We had to wait a long time because there were no noises coming from the room. Sometimes I thought I heard whispers.

After about half an hour, though it seemed longer, Sarah wiggled her fingers at me, gesturing for me to go to her. I walked the three steps to her reluctantly. She cupped her hands around my ear and whispered, “Get me the cricket bat. Behind table… storeroom.” She pointed at the storeroom’s doorway.

I walked a few paces towards the doorway, but stopped. This could be a ploy to get me away from the servant’s room – Sarah could latch the door behind me once I was in the storeroom. I returned to my post by Sonimol’s door. Sarah looked like she was going to explode. Her outstretched arm and forefinger jabbed the air furiously in the direction of the storeroom’s doorway, her eyes bulging with rage. I shook my head slowly, watching her nervously.

“Why not!” she hissed from across me.

I put my fingers to my lips and hopped, praying the couple inside the room weren’t able to hear us. “Shhh!” I rounded my mouth.

She came to me and grabbed the neck of my t-shirt, trying to strangle me. “Listen, you!” she spat into my face, “You do what I say or get out of here.”

“You go back to your room. I’ll stay here and sort matters.”

She dragged me a little away from the door and spat again, this time into my ear and on my cheek, “And how do you plan to do that?”

“I’ll think of something…” I regretted suggesting we follow Mobby to see what he was doing (FC81).

She opened her mouth, but I jammed my palm against her mouth, trying to shush her. A furious look shot into her face and she started to shake me. I pinched her upper arm hard and she yelped in pain, letting me go. She went back to her side of the door, rubbed the tender fleshy area of her upper arm and looked daggers at me.

A few minutes later, she went to the storeroom and got the cricket bat. Shock coursed through me. Was she going to beat me with it?

She leaned the bat against the door and then got a small nest table from the sitting room and sat on it carefully.

It was old, carved and delicate and I wondered if it would break under her weight. But I was quite sure this family would brave a broken heirloom rather than bear down heavily on Sarah.

I was surprised Mobby Dick was so quiet inside the servant’s room. I darted over to Sarah and cupped her ear, “Do you think he’s still in the room?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a window in there.”

“He’s too wide to squeeze through the bars,” she whispered hoarsely into my ear.

I’d forgotten the window bars. “We can’t stay here all night.”

“You can’t, for sure.”

I glared at Sarah, who grinned and puckered her lips to kiss the air in front of her mouth. I walked back to my post and put my ear to the door. How was it possible that Mobby the Dick was so silent in there? Why did Herman Melville give his whale two names. Could Mr Melville have foreseen one of those names becoming a popular swear word 200 years on? And why did Sarayumama put two bs in Mobby’s name. Had she ever read Moby Dick?

I went back to Sarah. “How are we going to get Mobby out?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long do you plan to stick around?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

I wanted to hit Sarah on her head with the bat leaning against the wall. “What are you planning to do with the cricket bat?”

“I’ll figure it out soon.”

“So why did you get it?”

“Chumma (Just like that).”

“Idiot!”

“What! What did you say?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear myself,” I said, rushing back to my spot, suddenly scared.

Sarah was furious. She got up from the spindly stool and charged at me. She caught my ear and wrenched hard.

“You’re just bloody evil! All of Ammachi’s* horrible genes in you,” I shouted, giving Sarah a mighty shove. She tottered backwards and fell, landing on the nest stool. It flattened out with a disturbing crunch.

Sarah lay still on the ground in shock, her hands clutching her mouth to stifle her scream. “Run, Chechi, run!” I whispered as loudly as I dared and started running back to my bedroom through the storeroom and into the corridor.

I was suddenly afraid my grandfather, sleeping in the room opposite the storeroom’s other door, would wake up with the sound of the nest stool smashing and catch us. I was even more worried my demon cousin would rise from where she had fallen beside Sonimol’s door and catch and strangle me with her ferociously strong hands.

I turned to look and saw Sarah close on my heels with the bat tucked into her armpit. As I neared the corridor, sweating now and tense that my grandfather’s door would open any moment, we heard Sonimol’s door open and a pair of slippered feet slapping the ground in hot pursuit.

I waited further along the corridor for Sarah, terrified Mobby would be upon us soon. But she was pulling a starched embroidered table cloth – an unholy reminder that Sarayumama was once young – off a tiny corner table near the sitting room’s entrance. My heart thundered in my chest and ears as I waited near my door, willing my cousin to give up her tomfoolery and run to her door. Being older didn’t necessarily mean wiser!

But in an instant, I understood her interest in our aunt’s stiff muslin endeavour. Sarah grabbed Mobby from behind, her arm looped around Mobby’s neck jerking his head back, and with her other hand shoved the cloth deep into his mouth. My cousin gagged and bent over, scratching at his mouth.

Sarah picked up the cricket bat she had rested against the wall and watched him roll on the floor. There was a cold calculating look on her face. I hugged the wall near my bedroom, watching in shock as Sarah raised the bat and slammed it on Mobby’s back and legs and every body part he was unable to roll over and protect. I ran into my room unable to watch anymore, and threw myself under my sheet, trembling.

In a while I heard Sarah’s door close and after a very long time Mobby’s.

I wiped the sweat off my face and neck and continued to shiver with tension, trying to calm down.

When the sky started to lighten, and my mother woke up and left the room to begin her chores, I crawled into her side of the bed, curled up and continued the prayer I had spent the whole night repeating – I begged God to take me away from this awful place.

                                                      ******

* grandmother in Malayalam

Sarayumama is the narrator’s father’s older sister.

                                                      ****** 

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 and she have discovered their cousin Mobby attempting a rendezvous with a servant in the middle of the night. 

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 #nesttable #heirloom #cricketbat #embroideredtablecoth #servant #servantquarters #clandestinelove #love #forbiddenlove             

 

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

                                                     ******

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