THE PUPPETEERS OF PALEM (10 page)

Avadhani Thatha
turned to him abruptly and spoke. ‘Were you not meant to come here in the morning, boy?’

‘I did. I was at the Shivalayam,’ Aravind answered.

‘Ah, you went to the Shivalayam.’ He smiled slyly. ‘So maybe you
are
interested in all this mess, eh?’

‘Well, now,’ Aravind said, pointing in the direction of the gate, ‘I sort of have to, don’t I?’

‘Oh, no, if you think you’d rather go away, you can.’

Aravind was aware of the others’ eyes on him. The sun had just set and darkness was beginning to loom. None of the houses had any lights on because everyone was here. And none of them looked in any hurry to leave. He had a funny feeling that the whole village was hanging on his word.

Don’t be stupid, Aravind. Just pack your bags and go.

It was the voice of his mother, which was also funny because he had never seen or heard his mother. Whenever he heard that voice, he assumed it was his mother. It might not be. But it was nice to think it was.

There is something strange going on here.

Yes, people loitered about the dead body like a swarm of flies. It was getting really dark and yet no one seemed to want to leave. Didn’t the womenfolk have to get home and light the lamps? Didn’t they have to cook? Didn’t they have chores to attend to? The old Palem used to go to sleep when the sun set. This one was waking up with the night. Yes, there
was
something strange about that.

Go away. This is not your problem
.

The two men who had been pulling Venkataramana out had stopped too and were looking at him. Aravind thought of jackals feeding on the carcass of a bison, each nipping at a leg and wrenching it away. Each of the men had one of Venkataramana’s legs in their hands. Did jackals have black eyes like these men did? They were emaciated men, both of them, and they looked
hungry
.

You want to eat him up, don’t you? All of you, you want to eat him up. You’re not going to your house because you want a share in the spoils. You’re all vultures.

That was his own voice. He tried to remember when he had last had his medicines. He had had one just before he left Hyderabad, which made it—how many? He fought the urge to count the number of hours on his hands. He closed his eyes. How many, damn it! A lot.
A whole day?
Too many
. He looked around and saw Venkataramana’s bag lying there.

Bag. Yes. Bag.

It always got worse at night. He had to get to his bag, his nice, beautiful, black bag. His bag had the medicines. It would make the voices stop—until they came back again.

Something. Not. Right. Here.

Yes, something not right. Here in Palem, and also in his head.

Look
.

He looked. He looked straight at Venkataramana on the spike with his head thrown back. The head then turned and fixed its eyes on him. Those eyes were black too.

You need to sleep, Ramana.

The eyes closed for a second, then opened again. And he smiled, and blood dripped out of his mouth over his nose and trickled down to his forehead.

And the next moment the head was thrown back again. No blood. No smile. No black eyes.

You need to sleep, Aravind.

His mother’s voice. Yes Mother, he thought. I do.

Go, then. Go and sleep.

Yes, yes, I will sleep.

Something not right
.

Yes. Nothing had been right for a long time now.

Chapter Thirteen

1984

C
hotu closed his eyes and sighed in perfect contentment. He had just finished the most delicious bowl of curd rice (with the mango pickle which his mother had made yesterday). The breeze from the Godavari made the dry heat of the summer afternoon bearable. He had not slept a wink last night (which was strange, because he always slept well, his mother said), so now would be a perfect time to get some. Father—and his inevitable question, ‘Chotu, have you done your homework?’ —were at least two hours away.

Ah, bliss.

The chat-pat
of a live coal fire could be heard outside, where his mother and grandmother were roasting corn. The smell of freshly peeled corn wafted into the room with the breeze. His mind started to mellow and he began dreaming of how he would be munching pickle-smeared corn stubs in a couple of hours.

Suddenly, he felt a little knot in his stomach.

He had not heard anything, but he could tell his grandmother was about to speak. There was an eerie silence outside—the kind that surrounded two people pretending to be busy in what they were doing because they did not want to speak with one another. They were behind the wall, he knew, although they were hidden from his view. The ripping of the corn skin, the chatter of the fire in tune with the swish of the hand-held fan (it was his mother who held the fan and his grandmother who peeled the corn), the cawing of the crows—these were the only sounds; and now, somewhere deep inside his head, a muddled, wavy noise… of whatever it was that was knotting him up.

He had felt it before in the house. It usually happened just before Bamma
said something to Amma
when Nanna
wasn’t home. And when Nanna
wasn’t home, Bamma
always said something bad. Now she was about to do it again. He felt his stomach tighten a little more. His mind filled with fear—a fear that he could not define, a fear that was not even his. That always came right after the stomach-knotting.

Please, Bamma, don’t say anything
.
I don’t like it. Amma doesn’t like it. Please, please, please.

‘Prabhakarayya
came again today.’

Swish. Swish.

‘Did you hear me?’

‘Haan, Attayya.’

‘If you hear me, you should reply. Haven’t I told you that before?’

‘Yes. Sorry.’

‘Hmm, very quick to say sorry, you are. But you need to stop doing things that you end up being sorry for.’

Swish. Swish.

‘Understand?’

‘Yes.’

The knot in his stomach was hurting him. Chotu felt like the life was being drained out of him. It was not just fear now; it was shame, it was embarrassment, it was guilt. And a stray thought came out of nowhere and formed in front of his eyes in big letters:
I wish he came home now.

‘Anyway. So… Prabhakarayya came again today.’

‘Haan.’

‘Came to ask about the money.’

‘We will give it.’

‘Where will you get it from?’

Swish. Swish.

‘We will give it.’

Come home
, the words still loomed in front of him. Nice and big and heavy. Yes, it would be nice indeed if Nanna
came home now. His stomach never knotted this way when Nanna
was home. And there was no fear or embarrassment or guilt. But he
would not be home for a while yet. Bamma
knew that. And Chotu knew that Bamma
knew.

How did he know? It was a slow, seeping realization that something bad was round the corner; a slower version of what he had felt in that split-second the other day, in Saraswatamma’s irrigation well by the big neem tree. They had all gone swimming that afternoon. It had been Chotu’s first time with the big kids. He had spent most of the afternoon on the edge of the well, clutching the ropes, afraid to venture out into the water. He had only just learnt to stay afloat. He kept pushing himself out with his feet, eager to show them all his swimming skills, but his hands wouldn’t let go. Each time he jumped out and yo-yoed back onto the safety of the edge, cackles of laughter sounded from the boys.

‘You’ve learnt to swim, haven’t you, kid?’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes!’

‘Then let go of the damned rope.’

So he started slowly, taking a tentative lunge into the water and immediately turning around to swim back to the edge. Then he tried bigger leaps, further and further away from the rope. As the afternoon wore on, though his arms ached, he felt he could make it across the well to the other side.

He took a deep breath and waded in.

He started off at a brisk pace and covered the distance to the half-way mark quite easily. But then he slowed down. His arms grew numb and he had to stick his neck out to stay above the water. He pumped his legs as furiously as he could but they refused to rise above the water’s surface. All around him he heard the smooth, rhythmic splashes of hands and feet. His own attempts were making no sounds at all. His ears dipped under the surface. He took in a mouthful of water and spat it out frantically.

Someone glided by him. Aravind. Chotu looked at him and pumped harder with his limbs. But while Aravind moved with apparently no effort, he stayed where he was, slowly running out of gas.

Aravind said something. Since his ears were immersed he couldn’t hear the words. When he shook his head, Aravind sidled up to him, placed his hand under his stomach and lifted him up.

‘Do you remember what I said?’

Chotu nodded.

‘Everyone who comes to swim with us has to go through a ritual.’

Chotu nodded again, continuing to pedal.

Aravind looked at him and grinned. Chotu sensed that everyone around had stopped swimming and were staring at them. He heard a few sniggers, a few excited whispers, and finally someone said, ‘Do it, stamp him!’

‘Take a deep breath,’ Aravind said.

‘What?’

‘Take a deep breath.’

Chotu obeyed. But he was tired from all the pedalling. All the air left him as soon as he breathed in.

‘Another one.’

Chotu took another breath.

This time, as soon as he breathed in, Aravind placed both his hands on Chotu’s shoulders and pushed him below the water. Chotu closed his eyes and clawed at Aravind’s torso, but he wriggled away. He thrashed and kicked, but Aravind’s hands held him by the scalp and pushed him down further. Then, just for a single terrifying second that brought home the boy’s words (Stamp him!) beyond all doubt, Chotu felt Aravind’s feet on his shoulders.

The first thing that struck Chotu was the silence. Only a second ago, everything had been so noisy and full of life
—the splashing of the bodies, the shouting, the taunting, the games, the fun—and now everything was blacked out. He heard nothing. His eyes were wide open, but he saw nothing. All he could tell was that he was going down. He tried looking up. Somewhere up there, he saw a little white circle of light, just big enough to push his ring finger through. And it was getting smaller.

His tried to pedal his way upwards, but the weight of Aravind’s feet kept him down. It had been a bright, sunny afternoon until the last second. And yet, now he was caught in a pitch black abyss. And he was sinking deeper into it.

He thought of his mother and her pickles. He thought of his father—how nice it would be to hear him ask, just one
more time, if he had done his homework. He thought of his grandmother. He said a silent goodbye to each one of them.

Then his ears flipped. A big weight that had been sitting on them all this time seemed to have lifted. Chotu looked up desperately. Was it his imagination or had the little circle of light over his head grown bigger?

He raised his hands and brought them down, kicking hard with his legs at the same time. Yes, the circle had become bigger, and it was widening further. He was no longer in a black pool; it was now green and it was getting brighter each second. Then he burst through a layer of white and shot through the surface gasping for air.

The sights and sounds of the world returned. The ropes, the yellowish mud, the sky, the sun, the laughter…

But why wasn’t he splashing the water? He willed his hands and legs to move, but they’d given up. He tried to roll over on his back and float until he regained some strength, but he sank right through.

He bobbed up once more, gasping for air. And he went down again.

Oh, so this was drowning
.

When he slashed out with his arm, it met something… something smooth and wet.
Somebody.
He tried to call out for help and ended up swallowing a mouthful of water.

Fingers closed around his hair and pulled him up, so that he could breathe.

Ramana!

Chotu felt an overwhelming urge to wrap himself around Ramana and never let go. He moved closer to him. But Ramana held firm with his hand in Chotu’s hair and pushed him away. Then he started dragging him towards the edge.

Oh Ramana thank god!

‘What the hell, Aravind? What the hell.’

Thank god thank god thank god.

‘He’s just learnt to float. Did you not see how scared he was to swim?’

You saved my life Ramana you saved my life.

‘Relax. Nothing happens when you drown a few feet.’

‘That’s not the point. You
scared
him. And he was not ready.’

Scared yes yes you saved my life thank god.

‘You’re not a swimmer until you’ve been stamped. Even kids know that.’

Chotu looked at the remorselessly smiling face. His mother’s words rang in his ears…
When you’re big and strong, Chotu, you can beat all these boys up.
His wet fingers dug into the mud. As he stared, almost with fascination, at the figure that was climbing out of the well, he thought,
When I am big and strong, Aravind…

That had been almost a month ago.

In the interim, Chotu had come to intimately know a new emotion—an emotion stronger than any he had known so far, one that he would correlate with the restlessness he felt whenever his grandmother spoke to his mother. And he was feeling it intensely right now towards Bamma
as she said those words that hurt Amma
so. And when Amma was hurt, his stomach grew queasy.

‘Have you people thought of going to the city?’ she said.

Cackle.

‘Hmm.’

Swish.

‘Have you or have you not?’

‘You know how he does not like leaving Palem.’

‘Arey, if you don’t leave Palem, where will the money come from?’

‘We will give it.’

Chotu saw the unsaid word ‘somehow’ loom in front of him. Heavy with the weight of uncertainty. He hated his grandmother. Not always; not when she told him stories and played with him. But right now, he hated her almost as much as he hated Aravind.

But he was also scared. Grandmother was big and tall and nasty when she got angry. She had that look about her—as though she was
happy
to inflict pain on others. He had seen that in her face before, and more importantly, he had
felt
her happiness. In fact, ‘happy’ was the one word that he saw clearly, every time she said those bad things.

Now too, there it was, flashing before his eyes in big capital letters. HAPPY.

Chotu had seen that somewhere else too, but where… His mind went back to the day of the drowning incident. Before Aravind stamped on him? No, maybe a bit later. Yes, it was after he had come up to the surface once and then began drowning the second time. Between the splashes of water and the impossible gasps for air, he had seen one face with the word ‘happy’ writ large over it.

Sarayu
.

‘Self-respect is not everything, Pilla,’ his grandmother was saying. ‘Sometimes, women have to do things to save their husband’s self-respect.’

Swish. Cackle.

HAPPY.

Sarayu had been staring at him and her mouth had twisted into a half-smile. As he struggled, the expression on her face had become stranger—but also happier. After Venkataramana had taken him to safety, Chotu had stolen a glance at her. Disappointment? Sadness?

Swish.

‘Now I am saying something, and you pretend as if you aren’t listening. Prabhakarayya is going to come again, I tell you. You better decide what you are going to do to protect your husband’s honour and this house. Understand?’

Chotu rolled over on the cot and squeezed his fingers tight around his belly. He hated them. He hated her and Aravind. When he became big and strong he would… but no, he was scared of Bamma
too. Of that expression she wore, when she said something bad to someone. Of that
happy
face that exploded to life when she saw someone sad. Yes, Bamma’s face.

And Sarayu’s face.

‘Come home,’ he thought. ‘Come home soon, please.’