THE PUPPETEERS OF PALEM Page 17

  Chotu came running from under the banyan and stood next to Avadhani, staring down at the burnt mass of flesh by the lingam. ‘Thatha,’ he said, tugging at Avadhani’s shirt. ‘Thatha!’

  Avadhani held the boy’s head and pulled him away. ‘Don’t look at it, boy. There is work we need to do. Come!’

  Aravind lifted his digger and hit the ground. On the very first stroke, the earth gave way, and a growing spot of moisture covered the ground in a rough circle. Aravind looked up at Avadhani.

  Avadhani smiled. ‘Yes. She is here.’

  Aravind dug around the blot of moisture and shovelled the loose earth away in heaps, leaving a hole in the ground. ‘I hit something,’ he said.

  ‘Wait, boy!’ Avadhani went for his torch.

  Aravind threw his digger away and felt around with his hands. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I found it.’ With a belch of disgust, he stood up on his feet with his hands held out in front of him.

  Avadhani flashed the light on his hands, and they all saw her. She had six tentacles in all, each of them wound tightly around Aravind’s fingers. The body, which appeared to plaster itself to his palms, was translucent and filled with a viscous fluid, blue granules floating within it. When they moved closer, they saw that the body throbbed lightly every few seconds. All of them reached out to touch it.

  ‘It’s… it’s wet,’ Sarayu said.

  Venkataramana ran a finger along the length of the creature’s body and stared at his fingertip. ‘What do we do with it?’

  Avadhani grinned and said, ‘Why, burn her of course.’ And he signalled to Chanti to open the remaining can of kerosene.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Diary of Sonali Rao

  March 21, 2002

  Dear Shilpi,

  I don’t know why I write you these letters, Shilpi. There is no postal service in Palem—there hasn’t been any for a long time—and the most I can hope to do is keep them with me and deliver them to you in person. But Shilpi, writing to you makes me feel good. It feels like you’re right here in this room, sitting on that black trunk over there, with your hands wrapped around your knees and your head thrown back in laughter, chiding me for being such a sentimentalist, quoting some long-dead poet who perfectly described my situation…

  I miss you, Shilpi. Today more than any other time. I would give anything to see you right now, even if it is to hear you scolding me.

  There have been some changes here since the last time I wrote. Avva has disappeared. It happened two or three days ago. When I wake up, she usually comes to the doorstep and tells me that the boys have cleaned the bathroom for me and that breakfast is ready. But there was no sign of her yesterday. I didn’t see her all day. I thought she had gone to one of the nearby villages and would come back by nightfall, but she did not.

  I asked the boys. They looked at me with strange, expressionless faces and did not answer. People in the village behaved as if they didn’t know who I was talking about. ‘The old woman who comes with me every morning to buy vegetables,’ I told them. ‘The old woman I walked around with during the last week.’ But they just looked at me blankly and shrugged their shoulders. One of them even said that he had never seen an old woman with me. I always went everywhere alone, he said.

  I have also been sleeping a lot these last few days, Shilpi. Well, I should not say ‘sleeping’, because I have no memory of going to sleep or of waking up. I suppose a more appropriate term is ‘black out’. I would be sitting somewhere or walking someplace or doing something, and suddenly I… I ‘go out’ and ‘come back’ sometime later, in a different place, with no memory of how I got there or how much time had elapsed. This happened for a few minutes at a time initially, but now, I spend more of my day blacked out than in consciousness. Today, for instance, this is only the second hour I have a conscious memory of, and it’s already seven in the evening.

  When I do go to sleep, I wake up tired. No, fatigued. It’s strange, because I am sleeping better than I ever have in my life. You know what a fitful sleeper I have always been, Shilpi. I remember you used to complain to Mother about how I used to kick you in my sleep. I’ve always been a vivid dreamer, and I only got just enough sleep to get by. Here, it’s the opposite. From the time I close my eyes to the time I open them, I feel nothing. I am out like a log. Yet, the first thing I want to do on waking up is to go back to sleep! I feel so exhausted. I know I told you about this before, but it has become so much worse in the last few days.

  Shilpi, I feel something is closing in on me. My waking hours reducing bit by bit like this—it feels as if I am in a closed room and the walls are closing in on me from all sides, inch by inch. I’ve always been an outdoors person, you’re the resident family introvert. Maybe I’ve always been a bit claustrophobic. Or maybe that is what is really happening to me. Life is being squeezed out of me, one drop at a time.

  Yes, yes, I know. I can leave any time I want. It is just a matter of packing my bag and leaving, right? You know, I’ve packed my bag every evening since the day I arrived. Every evening, I resolve to leave and never come back. But there is something very addictive about Palem, Shilpi. The thought of leaving makes me happy, but when I lift my bag and put on my sandals, my legs feel heavy. My mind becomes misty. I am unable to move much. I find myself looking forward to night time, when the moon is up and the stars are sparkling, so that I can drift off to sleep and wake up to another day, exhausted and wishing to sleep some more.

  Something is keeping me here. Probably the same thing that is making the walls close in around me. Can you make it stop, Shilpi?

  Now I understand why the village sleeps as much as it does. Now I understand why they all have those horrible black circles around their eyes. I walked to Ellamma Cheruvu the other day and looked down at my reflection. I looked exactly like one of them, Shilpi. And I cannot do a thing to stop it—whatever ‘it’ is.

  I will give you one piece of advice, though, as a big sister. If these letters ever reach you, and if I don’t come back from Palem, don’t come after me. There is something here that sucks you in. Remember the island of the lotuses that we read about in The Odyssey (Grandma had presented it to us on our birthday)? Sailors that landed on the island never left, wanting nothing more than to just laze about in the grass, stare into the distance and eat the lotus-petals. Palem is something similar. People who come here don’t leave. Whether they don’t want to leave or whether they want to but cannot—well, that’s not important, is it? The point is they don’t.

  So take my advice and don’t come after me. Now all of this could be my delusion and I might wake up tomorrow feeling all fine and dandy, but somehow I doubt it. Somehow, I think my waking time is drawing to a close. You’ve always called me a drama queen. You’ve always said I dramatized my life too much, that I was not realistic enough, that I lived my life as if it were a movie. And I’ve always hotly denied it. But today, I wish I am only being too dramatic, that all you say about me is true. I wish all of what I said about Palem is a childish, exaggerated fancy of mine. That this were just a movie that would end, so I could walk out of the exit, get on my moped and drive home—to you and Amma and Nanna.

  I want to come home, Shilpi. Take me away from here, please.

  Love,

  Sonali

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  2001

  The golden hands of Aravind’s black wristwatch dial pointed to eleven o’ clock. The four of them sat slumped in the four corners of the room, as though they were avoiding one another. It was a hot, breezeless day. All their faces were awash with a film of sweat.

  Aravind licked his lips and said in a reminiscing voice, just loud enough for the others to hear, ‘He was alive when I left him.’ He frowned at Avadhani, who was sitting to his right, staring at his walking stick. ‘He was alive.’

  ‘His skull was smashed in, boy. Smashed in.’

  ‘He was not like that when I left him. He attacked me with a rock, and when I hit him, it was only a small scratch.
I dressed his wound myself.’

  Sarayu asked, ‘Why did he attack you?’

  ‘He…he thought I was the one who killed Ramana,’ said Aravind incredulously. Then, in a lower, softer voice, he said, ‘Do you all believe that too?’

  Chanti gulped and looked away. Sarayu answered the question with another. ‘And why did you hit him?’

  ‘I was trying to defend myself, Sarayu,’ said Aravind ominously. When no one said anything in return, he stood up and said, ‘Look, if I had wanted to kill him, would I have come to get help? Would I have taken Thatha along to show him what I have done?’

  ‘You could have done it as a double bluff,’ Chanti said. ‘You knew you had killed him, or you knew that the blow you’d given him was strong enough to kill him. But to direct suspicion away from yourself…’

  ‘Oh shut up, Chanti,’ Aravind spat. ‘You and your ridiculous theories. Where were you this morning anyway?’

  Chanti suddenly sprang off the wall and stood straight. ‘Me? I was at the school. Thatha sent us there.’

  ‘You and Sarayu were together all along?’

  ‘No, er… Sarayu… had to go somewhere.’

  Aravind’s eyes widened and a grin appeared on his face. ‘So I suppose no one saw you at the school either.’

  Chanti inclined his head. His eyes darted from left to right. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But I was at the school.’

  ‘With no one present there to confirm that for you,’ Aravind added. ‘Maybe you took a walk by the Shivalayam while you were at it? Maybe you saw Chotu lying there by the well with the rock in his hand—’

  Chanti looked up and shook his head, ‘No… No!’

  Aravind shrugged. ‘How do we know? And how do we know you did not kill Ramana?’

  ‘I did not!’

  Aravind turned to Sarayu. ‘And you? Where did you go? Where were you this morning?’

  Sarayu said, ‘I have nothing to hide. I was with Seeta.’

  A flash of suspicion shone in his eyes. ‘Seeta?’

  ‘Yes, remember the girl we used to play with when we were kids? She has this hideous monstrosity of a face and—’

  ‘I know who Seeta is,’ he cut in.

  ‘Oh,’ Sarayu said, shrugging. ‘I was with her. We were… catching up.’

  ‘Anyone that can confirm that for us?’

  Sarayu smiled sweetly at Aravind. ‘Of course, Aravind. I just told you I was with Seeta all morning. You could ask her and she will confirm it for you.’

  ‘I will,’ Aravind said, looking straight at her. ‘I will ask her.’

  From his corner, Avadhani discreetly cleared his throat. ‘Children,’ he said, ‘you should not be fighting amongst yourselves. I told you to be united with each other.’ He coughed with his mouth closed, and his skinny shoulders jerked up and down.

  Just then, like on the previous day, they saw a mass of people in clean white clothes walking by the house. One of them stopped by the gate and beckoned to them frantically, waving his arms and shouting and screeching. ‘Come!’ he said. ‘Avadhanayya, come!’

  They were at the head of the crowd, at Seeta’s front door. The door was fully open and the morning sun flooded in. Just out of sight, hidden in the shadows somewhere, sprawled on the floor, was Seeta. Only a dim outline of her half-clad body was visible. Her arm was thrown into the rectangular window of light offered by the door. Her palm faced upwards and her fingers were limp. Around her finger was wrapped a thread, an old five-paise coin suspended from the thread. From her wrist, a thin, solid red line trailed down onto the floor and dissolved in the mud.

  Aravind looked at Sarayu, who was standing next to him. ‘You said you came to meet her?’

  ‘I…I did. I didn’t—’

  ‘You did or you didn’t?’

  ‘I did. I… I was here. But I didn’t think she would—’

  Aravind turned and made his way through the crowd. Sarayu followed him. ‘Aravind, wait! Listen to what I have to say. Oh god.’

  Chanti followed at a distance as they made their way away from the crowd. When they were a fair distance away, they stopped.

  ‘So much for asking her to confirm your story, huh?’ Aravind said, holding his hair in his hands and looking up at the sky. ‘God!’

  ‘Aravind, please,’ Sarayu said, reaching out for him. ‘Please don’t be upset.’

  ‘Upset!’ he laughed stupidly. ‘Why would I be upset? Now tell me, Sarayu, why did you kill her?’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘So you’re saying you did not visit her?’

  ‘I did! But I did not kill her.’ She took a step closer to him and held the sleeve of his shirt in both her hands. ‘You have to believe me. You have to.’

  He pulled his arm away. ‘Have to, huh? Have to!’ His speech came in short, sharp bursts. ‘Tell me. You! Tell me why I must believe you could not have killed her. You… you bitch!’

  Chanti looked on, blinking, gulping, licking his lips, biting his tongue.

  ‘I deserve it,’ Sarayu said slowly. ‘I deserve your abuses, Aravind. I deserve anything you give me. But I did not kill her. I am not a killer.’

  ‘So says everyone. But she… she was not like that. She did not just… say things.’ An edge of grief crept into his voice and the words rippled out, one at a time.

  Sarayu reached out and held his shirt once again. ‘I am the same. Absolutely the same. I am… I am better.’

  He turned to face her, first in anger, then in growing amazement. ‘You… you killed her, and you killed him too. You killed all of them.’

  She shrank back, her hands shot up to cover her mouth. She shook her head.

  ‘Oh, no, don’t play the poor girl card on me now,’ Aravind said, his face contorting into an expression of uncontrolled fury. ‘You killed Ramana on the way here. You killed Seeta this morning. And once you killed him, you went to the well and killed Chotu. Yes, you killed all of them.’

  ‘No! No… how could I?’

  ‘How could you?’ Aravind held her by the hair and pulled her to him for a closer look. ‘How could you? I saw your face when you saw Ramana’s body. I saw your face when your father died. You liked it, didn’t you? You liked killing them all.’

  Chanti came running to them now. ‘Hey, wait.’ He freed her from his grip and pushed him away. ‘Wait! We don’t know for sure. We don’t know for sure.’

  ‘Oh, you fool, look at her face!’

  ‘Yes, look at my face!’ Sarayu raised herself to her full height and faced them both. But her eyes were fastened on Aravind. ‘Have you ever seen this face? Ever? Have you ever seen me looking at you?’ She walked towards him as she spoke. ‘Have you ever, in all the times we spent together, looked into my eyes for one moment? If you had, maybe you would have seen what I really am. Maybe you would have seen the love I have for you. You would have noticed me once instead of just letting your eyes slip by and calling me a murderer!’

  They both stood, staring.

  ‘Surprised?’ she continued. ‘Surprised? Of course you are. What do you know about women—about real women? You are the son of a filthy man, and you will always be in love with filth—with dirtiness, with ugliness. When a real woman wants you, how will you know? You… you don’t deserve me!

  ‘Why would I kill Ramana, you pathetic oaf? Why would I kill Chotu? How did I know that Ramana would be at the school? How did I know that Chotu was sitting there by the well with his head smashed in and all alone? Are you even thinking straight? Are you?’

  Aravind slunk backwards as she advanced towards him. Chanti stood rooted to the spot, staring at her with an open mouth. Every once in a while, his tongue would come out and rasp against his dry lips. Every once in a while, he would blink. His face showed no emotion, as though he were in a trance.

  For a moment, it seemed like Sarayu would pick Aravind up by his collar and toss him against the tree, but the harried sound of a walking stick came from behind her. She stopped.

  ‘What is going on here,�
�� Avadhani demanded. ‘I told you to watch out for one another, not fight.’ He looked at Sarayu. ‘What are you doing? Why is your hair so dirty?’ He hurried over to Aravind and looked closely at his face. Then his features softened and he whispered, ‘Boy, Seeta is nothing in all of this. She is nothing. Don’t think about her. Think about what is to happen ahead.’

  Aravind started to say something, but Avadhani held up his hand. ‘Shh, stop talking. Let’s walk back to the house without a word. Not a word! We will speak once we get home.’ He looked at Chanti and slapped him full on his cheek. ‘Wake up, boy! This is not the time to lose your mind.’

  He turned and started walking away, beckoning to them over his shoulder. ‘Come. Not a word! Yes, we will speak… once we get home.’

  She had loved him!

  All along, all this while, she had loved him.

  Had she, though? She had always looked at him with that… that look in her eye. Was it nothing then? Had he just imagined it?

  Yes, hadn’t he stood by and listened to her profess her love for Aravind just now? And that too after he had stepped in and stopped Aravind from striking her. He had faced up to him for her and she had just walked on by and knelt before Aravind.

  He felt sorry for Aravind. How stupid was he, really? How could any sane man choose Seeta over Sarayu? He remembered the needle pricks on his arm. Yes, that had to be the reason. No thinking man would look away like he had when Sarayu offered herself to him.

  He held the knife in his hand and flicked his wrist. An old, familiar feeling returned to him. Back on the banks of Ellamma Cheruvu, he used to flip stones over the lake with a flick of his wrist just like this. He had lost practice, but the muscles in his fingers remembered. They held the knife with just the right amount of pressure. And with each nonchalant flip, they remembered more.

  There was also a flower… Yes, a giant, yellow, sun-lit flower with a long, green stem that disappeared somewhere below, petals that spread in both directions, so close to his eyes that they brushed against his lashes when he blinked. And above the flower, chin propped up by hands and head tilted playfully to one side, was her face.