The three of us are planning a meeting of the Slimes Society of India in Madras sometime next month. Little Boy (the one in the middle) will make a trip to visit us here. Mail me if you want to know dates and plan visit to Madras at the same time. Entertainment guaranteed.
Continued from here. Sorry for the delay. Much reorganisation of thoughts been happening over the last few months.
***
Shavasamudra, despite its name, was a cheery beach. It was hidden away from the tourists because the Government promoted Malpe as a tourist destination instead. The name was less deathly, they thought. No one cared if the water was an unnaturally spectacular turquoise - unlike the rest of the coast where it was darker and almost grey. No one cared if the sand was the milkiest of whites - not off-white or yellow. No one realised that harshness didn't come to Shavasamudra naturally - the waves were never harming, and the sun was always tempered. But then, who would want to go to a beach called The Corpse Beach? Who would want to bathe in that bloody water (A poet even wondered if all that blood made it blue. He was clearly confusing water with litmus paper)? Who would want to be at a beach with the most haunting of forts looking on grimly?
It didn't seem to affect the locals. They were there nearly each evening: they all had their routines and their favourite spots where they met and socialised. Many would walk along the edge of the water, the stronger waves kissing their feel lightly. They would walk from the port in the South to the fort in the North or the other way around, a healthy two kilometre walk against a strong sea breeze. A bunch of boys played cricket with a heavy tennis ball on a grassy patch near the fort - they were wonderful players of swing bowling. What actually happened at the beach, though, was a free exchange of gossip.
Stories started in one corner of the beach and almost magically transcended groups of gossipers until the whole beach was talking about it. One man would tell a story to the six other men who were listening to it around him. Then someone walking past this group would spread tell the story to someone else walking in another direction. And with these walkers, it reached other groups and so on.
Like all small towns, Kapmannu had a grand tradition of gossip. Like in all small towns, you couldn't cook payasa in Kapmannu without the whole town smelling it. The grapevine was as complex as it was unreliable - stories were often founded on conjecture, half-truths, legend and myth. Frequently, the source of the gossip changed the nature of the gossip. Veeresh's gossip would have information about which party bought how many cigarettes and paan that afternoon, and how this act affected the story. The seven doctors in the hospital always had medical theories to support the gossip they spread, and the lawyers claimed knowledge of vague properties owned in vaguer towns that contributed to the story.
Embatmuru, the owner of the tea-stall would always connect every piece of gossip with some conversation that happened in his tea-stall. Everything always started there.
Krishnaprasad had come the previous week for his morning tea and idlis when Ramanan entered the stall. Two things were wrong about this - Ramanan never came to the tea stall in the mornings because his daughter made tea for him. Also, Ramanan's eyes looked particularly tired. The first thing he told Krishna was, "I'm still alive, kid!" Krishna took out his revolver and pointed it at Ramanan. They looked at each other menacingly for a couple of seconds before bursting out laughing. Ramanan said, "Six months, kid! The Goddess was wrong!" Krishna finished his idlis, went to the basin to wash his hands and said, "If you keep talking like this, the Goddess will make sure she's right!"
When Embatmuru heard of the murder, he spent the entire morning wondering who the Goddess was, and what Ramanan had done to anger her.
Krishnaprasad was a constable with a theory based on gossip. When his bosses worked out the procedural why and how of the murder, he engaged in the substantial why and how. Krishna knew something about the murder that people around him didn't know. At least, they didn't seem like they knew, else they would have been discussing it.
Ramanan's murder was predicted, actually prophesied, by an Oracle.
***
Krishna still remembered that bus ride back to Kapmannu from Ambalapady. He was a little edgy and worried, while Ramanan laughed away.
"Kid, that guy there's looking at me weirdly," Ramanan laughed, "Maybe he'll get up, draw a dagger from his pocket, and stab me!" Krishna didn't say a word. "You could kill me! You like Lalitha, I know that. But she's marrying the other guy. You could get angry with me for not controlling my daughter, pull out your service revolver and shoot away," he continued laughing. Krishna turned to look out of the window. "Don't take it to heart, kid. I cant say anything to my daughter. I'd prefer you, frankly. That Nero's a bit soft in the head. But I cant force..." Krishna got up and walked to the door. When the bus slowed down, he jumped off. He was at least thirty kilometres away from home. He walked in the opposite direction - back towards Ambalapady.
Buses whizzed past him almost angrily in either direction on the highway. The occasional bike rode on the side of the road, unnaturally close to where he was walking. He tried stopping a couple of cars for a lift, but they didn't stop. An hour into his walk, he jumped off the highway into the fields and waded through the paddy. The mud was wet - it had rained the previous day. He convinced himself that it was a shortcut. His shoes were wet and grimy - it was like he had his own personal puddles to walk in, and despite the fact that he'd folded up his pants, they were fairly dirty too. The sea was a good two kilometres away, but he could feel its presence in the fields. It was almost an hour before he stopped to think.
***
Krishna was never too religious, but he was a bit superstitious. He couldn't explain it. Despite his scientific education - he had a B.Sc in Chemistry - he had this perverse fascination for the occult: the omens, the soothsayers, the predictions, astrology. He read his daily fortune each day in the local newspaper, and lived his life by it. He would choose his coloured banian depending on the lucky colour in the newspaper. He would look for his daily lucky number everywhere throughout the day. If the horoscope told him that he mustn't be adventurous, he wouldn't even flirt with Lalitha. Whenever he travelled, he kept tulasi leaves in each of his bags. He was terrified of black cats crossing his path and lizards falling on him.
Ramanan was the opposite. He read his daily horoscope, yes. But as a joke. He laughed about it and dismissed it. Every time there was a reference to his love life, he announced it loudly to his daughter, "I'm going to find a new girl today! At this age, with this leg!" The local astrologers, who lived in the same part of market street, were teased by Ramanan each day when he passed them on his way to buy supplies for the restaurant.
Krishna went to the Ambalapady Temple each Friday to witness the darshana - the sighting, literally - of the Goddess. The quaint, quiet temple came alive each Friday as one of its Trustees, a man of few words in normal life was possessed by the Goddess. It was a spectacle. Devotees from all around the area came there by about seven in the evening to witness it. On that Friday evening, Ramanan accompanied Krishna to mock the event.
Although he'd been witnessing this each week, the sight never failed to impress Krishna. The Oracle was placed in the centre of the hall where he would be possessed. People crowded around him in an irregular circle, crowding around the imaginary line to give themselves the best view of the event. The Oracle sat down on the floor next to two of the archakas. Some mantras were chanted, mango leaves were used to sprinkle water around the Oracle and on his head.
Gongs were sounded.
Slowly, the sounding of the gongs increased in volume. Gong, Gong. The temple bells added to the gonging. Gong, Gong.
***
Krishna continued trudging through the fields, the gongs still reverberating in his ears. The could even hear the archakas screaming their mantras over the din. He was right in front of the cirle, as he always was. Ramanan stood to his left, muttering into his ear every now and then.
"So, this Goddess, she's going to fly down from the skies?"
"Just watch."
"Ooh. I can see this misty figure flying down from that star there!"
***
The gonging continued. Louder than ever. The archakas were resigned to not being heard over the din. Yet, they shouted as laud as they could. One of them moved towards the oracle and whispered something in his ear. The gonging was louder than ever. The crowd raised their hands collectively in a namaskara. Some of them clapped with the rhythm of the gong. Gong, gong. Others, including Krishna, closed their eyes.
***
Krishna was tired from all the walking. It was unlikely he'd ever reach Ambalapady on this route. He sat down on a rock and removed his shoes. He shouldn't have pushed Ramanan to ask that question. He should've let Ramanan be. But Ramanan wasn't respecting the power of the process, and the only way to make him believe was to force him to ask a question.
***
Gong, gong. Suddenly, the Oracle stoop up and swayed to the throb of the gonging. The crowd imitated his action. They were all also swaying metronomically. The power, the tension was reaching the upper threshold. Ramanan let out a loud, derisive laugh. But everyone else was too involved to notice.
The Oracle let out a loud scream. A shattering sound that signalled that the Goddess had arrived. The Oracle was the Goddess now.
***
Krishna wondered what had made him push Ramanan forward to make him ask the question. Maybe it was his giggling. Or the comments he made. But he didn't have to ask the Oracle that question, really. He could've asked him anything else.
***
The crowd went quiet. The archakas performed a couple of small procedures, before one of them announced, "Ask the Goddess whatever you want to know. Be warned. The Goddess is a powerful being and might be angered by trivial questions. Be warned. The Goddess is frank and honest. She will not hide anything from you simple because it is unpleasant. Don't ask her questions you would rather not know the answer to."
An elderly man was the first questioner, "My granddaughter - when will she get married? Will it be a happy marriage?"
The Oracle replied, in a baritone that the man didn't seem capable of producing, "Next year, before Shivaratri. The marriage will last forever, but how happy it is will depend on how co-operative she is."
The old man's face fell. His granddaughter was probably the rebellious sort.
Ramanan whispered, "Calculated guess. That man's granddaughter is about 25. You can tell from what he looks like. If they're looking for someone, and the way he asked the question, it seemed like they've been looking for a while, its safe to assume they'll find someone in six months - by Shivaratri. The rest of it was vague."
A lady brought a child forward and asked the Goddess to bless him. "He will do mathematics and science! He will do very well!" The Oracle said.
"Right. She looks Brahmin. Half the Brahmin boys from this area do engineering. Its a safe guess," Ramanan said.
"My wife isn't feeling all that good these days. She feels weak and doesn't talk much. What is the problem?" a middle-aged man asked.
"She's been possessed by a spirit..."
"...probably having an affair with the man next door..." Ramanan mumbled.
"...and that spirit doesn't agree with your soul..."
"...it isn't the neighbour, its that business rival..."
"...and your soul will have to consort with hers more..."
"...you must stop having that affair with that other lady and screw your wife more often..."
***
It was that last line that angered Krishna, he was convinced. He wore his shoes again and began walking towards the highway to catch the bus back.
***
Ramanan found himself pushed forward by Krishna, closer to the Oracle than he'd've liked. He was not prepared to ask a question. The Oracle looked dreamily in his direction. One of the archakas prodded him, "Ask! Quickly!"
Ramanan considered for a second before asking, "How long will I live?"
The Oracle considered its response for a couple of seconds, before declaring, "By next Deepavali, your child will kill you!" The Oracle collapsed in a heap. The archakas were too stunned to even rush to his help. The crowd moved away from Ramanan as if he could explode and die at any moment. Krishna was dumbfounded.
Ramanan just smiled.
***
Krishna reached the highway, got into a bus and headed back. He was still unable to think clearly.
***
To be Continued.
I'm known for unplanned, impromptu travel. I also consider myself an expert at it. I had to use all my expertise to pull off yesterday's bus journey.
First, I booked a ticket on a KSRTC bus on the internet. The bus was surprisingly empty. Didn't understand why. Then, thanks to some directionless driver and vague dinner plans with Appa, I almost didn't reach the bus stand in time. Somehow, things fell in place and we reached Majestic with time to spare. Had a quick coffee, found the bus and boarded it. A good friend called with some happy news. Discussed it with him, and entered the bus. Conductor ticked off my ticket. Sat at seat number 5.
Suddenly, another middle-aged man came to seat number 5. After a quick check, we realised that my ticket was for the wrong date. I was a day early for my bus.
Asked the conductor if he had another seat. Initially, he said he did. So, I waited in that bus until it was about to leave. Then, the idiot tells me he doesn't have a seat.
I walk out of the bus in frustration and two touts hound me and ask me if I want a ticket to Madras. They said there was an AC bus for 950. I showed them the finger. Literally. Then, the guy said, "Non-AC. 500." I was tempted. I walked along with them, when they started negotiating again, "Saar, 600..." I was a bit desperate and I might have agreed. But some other dude standing far away signalled to me saying, "Don't go."
I don't know why I took that decision to not go. I went to the other dude who found me an AC bus for 600 bucks forty minutes past midnight. Had a chai and illuminating conversation with this other dude while we waited for the bus. Definitely the friendliest tout I've seen in my life. Ismail, his name. I tried out my Hyderabadi on him, and he was excited. "Not bad," he told me, "You can speak passably." He didn't even let me pay for the chai.
I wonder what makes us trust some people and not trust some others.The first two touts were as touty as Ismail. Somehow, I decided he would find me a better bus. And he did. Years ago, I trusted a lorry driver in Anantapur. Then, I knew I had nothing he could steal off me. I had about two hundred bucks in my pocket, I didn't own a phone, iPod, laptop or watch. I was wearing hawaii chappals and cheap clothes. If he was giving me a lift, it was out of the goodness of his heart, I believed. And I was right.
On the other hand, I have made errors of judgment. I once even paid heavily for being chatty with an auto driver.
***
In any case, I reached Madras safe and sound this morning. Was the most comfortable of bus journeys. I'm a little sleepy. Will catch up on that after lunch - one of those rare exceptions to non-afternoon sleeping. And then I shall meet more people and take the night train out. Back to Bangalore.
Random one-day travelling sure is fun!
***
Yes. I'm taking the plunge.
From the notebook. Only editing was cleaning up, and rendering the lettering (the original handwriting was hard to read even for me). Oh, I coloured the hair also :P.
Discovered in an old notebook. There are more such. Will redraw on plain paper and post!
Q: What did the Carnatic Musician call his itchy daughter?
A: Keeravani.
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