THE PUPPETEERS OF PALEM Page 21

  Avadhani’s teeth showed in a half-grimace. ‘I am telling you, there is. Give me the knife. Let’s defeat her together.’

  Aravind frowned. For a moment, neither man moved or spoke. Each looked at the other, trying to guess the other’s thoughts. Aravind’s hand, which held the knife, dropped a little and his gaze wavered.

  ‘Yes, my boy,’ Avadhani said. ‘Give me the knife. All is not lost yet. We can still get her.’

  ‘Move back,’ said Aravind, shaking the knife at Avadhani. ‘Move back, you old man!’

  ‘Okay. Okay. I am not making any movements. You don’t make any, either. Just think. If I called you here to kill you, why wouldn’t I do it straight away?’

  ‘You… you killed Ramana straight away.’

  Avadhani paused. ‘Okay, say I did. Why did I stop there? Why did I not kill you all just like I killed Ramana?’

  Aravind’s hand dropped further. ‘Stay back,’ he cried. ‘Stay back… you… you did not kill us all because you wanted to see us kill one another. That would make everything seem like an accident or the work of a psycho-killer. You would not be blamed. Yes, you would not be blamed.’

  ‘But why would I be blamed anyway? Am I being blamed for Ramana’s death? If I had killed all of you like I killed Ramana—whom I did not kill—then all of your deaths would have seemed like accidents, and none of them would attach themselves to me.’

  Aravind panted. ‘Stay back.’

  ‘I am not moving at all, my boy.’

  ‘It gave you a perverse sense of pleasure—yes, you’re a sadist—to see us kill each other. You played a game with us, Thatha.’ His hand rose resentfully and shook the knife at its target. ‘You played a game, and your game is up.’

  ‘Again,’ said Avadhani calmly. ‘Why would I want to kill you? If I really am what you accuse me of being, then you would be nothing more than a trifling inconvenience to me. I could brush you away as I would a mosquito.’ He paused. ‘Unless, it is you who is the killer, and it is you who wants me done away with.’ His voice softened. ‘Is it not so, my boy?’

  ‘No!’ Aravind cried. Then, in a lower, more hesitant voice, ‘No…’

  ‘It is you who killed Ramana, is it not?’

  ‘No… no, I… I don’t remember.’

  ‘It is you who smashed Chotu’s head with that rock by the well.’

  ‘Yes, but… but he attacked me.’

  ‘Like I am attacking you now?’

  ‘Yes… no… No!’

  ‘Give me the knife, Aravind.’

  ‘Stay back!’

  Another moment of silence descended on the room. A freezing cold gust of wind blew through the window and swayed the lamp that hung from the ceiling between the two men. The breeze came and went as though its only purpose had been to set the lantern in motion. Once again everything was quiet—everything, that is, but the metal chain that supported the lantern, creaking and squeaking.

  ‘The kerosene,’ said Aravind.

  ‘What?’

  Aravind nodded at the lamp. ‘The kerosene. Where do you get the kerosene to light your lamps?’

  ‘What are you talking about, my boy?’

  ‘Stop acting dumb! You said the being has not spread beyond this village because the villagers have stopped going out of it. You said that if outsiders come into the village or if the insiders go out, the pollen of the being would spread to those villages too. That Palem is completely cut off from its neighbours.’

  Avadhani sighed. ‘I never said completely. I said effectively.’

  ‘Same thing!’

  ‘No,’ said Avadhani, ‘it’s not the same thing. As you noticed, we get kerosene from Dhavaleshwaram. But we grow our own food now. There is very little interaction between Palem and other villagers.’

  ‘But there is some,’ Aravind said doggedly.

  ‘All right, there is some. What is your point?’

  ‘If there is some interaction, why has the being not spread to Dhavaleshwaram?’

  Avadhani shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she is not strong enough yet. Maybe she doesn’t want to just yet. She will when she wants to.’ He leaned forward and looked closely at Aravind. ‘Is that the reason why you thought she did not exist?’

  Aravind looked away. The shadows on the walls swayed and jumped in tune with the movement of the lantern.

  ‘Aravind,’ Avadhani said softly. ‘Listen to me. The fact that you are holding a knife to my chest itself is proof enough that there is something inside your head telling you to do so. We have been on one team all this time, my boy. Now you’re blaming me for all our friends’ deaths.’

  Aravind’s hand dropped further. He stepped back and steadied himself against the chair.

  Avadhani took a step towards him. ‘Something made you kill these people. Something is now inside your head, convincing you that is I who killed them. How could I have killed Ramana? I was here, in my house, with Sarayu and Chanti. Only you or Chotu could have killed him. Now think. Tell me. Did you kill Ramana?’

  Aravind did not stop him from advancing this time. He stared at the ground and shook his head.

  ‘You’ve always hated him, haven’t you? Right from the day he got that toy boat? You stole it from him, didn’t you?’

  Aravind nodded.

  ‘Then there was that incident about his brother—most unfortunate. But it did look like you had something to do with it, didn’t it?’

  Aravind nodded again.

  ‘So he must have had a lot of hate for you as well. Did you meet him at the outskirts of the village? Did you argue? Did you fight? Maybe in the midst of a fight you pushed him and he fell over the mound onto the gate?’

  ‘No… I… I don’t remember.’

  Avadhani said, ‘But it could have happened.’

  Aravind stopped and nodded.

  ‘And Chotu,’ Avadhani went on. ‘You said Chotu was not dead when you left him at the well. You said he was merely hurt. You said he asked you to go and get some help. But think about it, Aravind. Think about it long and hard. You and Chotu have a history too, don’t you? An incident that happened in Saraswatamma’s well, if I remember correctly.’

  Aravind looked up beseechingly at the lantern, as if willing it to stop.

  ‘Did you, maybe, lift the rock and bring it down on his head one more time? Did you?’ His voice was barely above a whisper. ‘You can tell me.’

  ‘I… don’t know.’

  ‘There is something in the air of Palem, my boy, which makes every man want to kill. It is the air breathed out by that horrible thing under the earth here. Ever since that night, there has been no peace in Palem.’ He was now standing an arm’s length away from Aravind. ‘It is not your fault, Aravind. You understand that?’

  The knife hung limply from Aravind’s hand now. He leaned forward on his free hand, head bent down, chest heaving. The shadows danced around them.

  ‘We can still defeat her,’ Avadhani said. ‘We can still defeat her if we stick together. Now, give me the knife.’

  Aravind put out a weak hand to stop the man from coming any closer. ‘Move away,’ he whined.

  ‘Look at me, boy. I am not going to come any closer to you if you don’t want me to. Give me the knife.’

  Aravind looked up, the light full in his face. ‘I need help, Thatha.’

  Avadhani smiled at him benignly. ‘We all do. It’s not your fault. Give me the knife.’

  Another breeze blew through the window, not as strong as the previous one, but strong enough to keep the lantern moving. There was something in it, though, that had not been present the last time. There was a whiff about the air now—a faint, lingering smell—a hauntingly familiar smell…

  ‘What was that?’ Aravind said, stiffening.

  Avadhani took a step back. ‘What?’

  ‘What was that?’ His hand with the knife rose and he pointed it at Avadhani again.

  ‘I don’t see anything.’

  ‘That smell… that smell of… honey�
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  ‘I don’t smell—’

  ‘Shut up!’ Aravind jumped at Avadhani and wrapped his arm around his neck. He pointed the knife at the older man’s chest, the edge almost touching his shirt. ‘Come out of there, whoever you are!’ he shouted into the creaking sounds. ‘Or Thatha will die!’

  Nothing but silence answered.

  ‘You tell them,’ whispered Aravind into Avadhani’s ear. ‘You tell them to come out right now or I swear to god… I swear to god I will cut your heart in two.’

  Avadhani said, ‘Wait, wait, don’t…’

  ‘You tell them to come out or I will cut you in two. I swear to god I will…’

  The door flung open.

  There was no mistaking the crutches, the torn shirt, the bobbing head, the dirty hair, the smell of bees, the smell of honey… Saidulu was holding one of Ramesh’s crutches in both his hands and waving it about. Ramesh clung to the remaining one and leaned against the side of the door.

  ‘We… we were wondering what is happening here, Aravind Anna. We heard noises. Why are you killing Avadhani Thatha?’

  Saidulu waded into the room, swishing the crutch from side to side.

  ‘Tell him to step back,’ Aravind barked.

  No one said anything, but Saidulu did not take a further step.

  ‘You knew they were coming, didn’t you?’ Aravind said to Avadhani. ‘You knew they were coming. You… you were stalling me. With all that talk of it all not being my fault. With all that psychobabble about being on one team and defeating her.’

  ‘No.’ A distinct edge of fear was in Avadhani’s voice now. ‘No, my boy. You’ve got it all wrong. No, please don’t kill me.’

  ‘You stalled me. You convinced me that I killed them all.’

  ‘But you did—you may have!’

  ‘I did not! I do not remember killing them, which means I did not kill them! Tell them to stop coming at us!’

  ‘Stop, you idiots,’ Avadhani shouted. ‘Don’t you see the man means it?’

  They both stopped. Ramesh leaned against the chair and picked up his crutch in both hands.

  ‘There’s three of you to one of me,’ said Aravind. ‘But I am not going to back out of this, Thatha. For Ramana, for Chotu, for Sarayu, for Seeta—’

  ‘No, don’t. You don’t understand.’

  ‘You played us.’ Aravind watched the two boys with the crutches. They waved them in little, nervous circles. Their shadows swayed behind them in tune to the creaking of the lantern. Their faces were extremely calm, but Aravind could tell they were nervous. ‘You played us. You played me. You made me out to be a murderer when you know I am not. I am going to kill you. I am going to—tell them to step—’

  It was then that three things happened at the same time. The boys leaped at him as one. The lantern flew against the wall and went out in a blast. The knife descended into Avadhani’s heart, all the way down.

  In the lantern’s dying light, Aravind saw the knife drive its way through the flesh. He felt the man’s last breath on his ear and the body go limp under his arm. A fraction of a second later, the lantern went out. A fraction of a second after that, something heavy landed on his head, and all lights went out.

  Saidulu felt his way to Aravind’s head, and when he found it, he knelt with one knee on either side of the fallen man’s chest, raised the crutch over his head and brought it down on the skull with a savage cry. Then he felt the wound with his fingers. With a dissatisfied grunt, he picked up the crutch and smashed it into the skull again. This time he heard the cracking of the bone, and he grinned. He felt the wound with his hands, prodded the blood with his fingers, and cooed in delight.

  But his pleasure was momentary. He felt an eerie silence in his brain. Wave upon wave of fear washed over him. He rubbed his hands on his shirt and closed his eyes. He tried to concentrate.

  No, no use.

  Why couldn’t he tell what Ramesh was doing? Why didn’t he know where he was?

  He heard a dog-like whimpering coming from the corner—left or right—a voice that seemed like a horrible apparition of Ramesh’s, but he couldn’t hear him. His voice, yes. But not his… not him.

  He could guess that Ramesh was feeling the same thing. But that’s what it had come to. He was having to guess, while until a few minutes ago, each knew exactly what the other was thinking.

  He did not bother to feel his way to Avadhani Thatha’s body. There was absolutely nothing coming from him. If there had been even a semblance of life left in him, they would not be feeling like they were—two stray kittens whose eyes had been gouged out.

  So this was what it was like to be blind—to be truly blind.

  Ramesh saw it all. He had landed the first blow that felled Aravind Bhaiyya. Saidulu had landed the second. Then they had fallen off and he, Ramesh, had crawled away to the corner and sat there, shell-shocked at the resounding silence in his head. Yes, he had heard the raw, animalistic roar that Saidulu gave out, and he had heard the crack of Aravind Bhaiyya’s skull. From a great distance, he heard his own voice, whimpering pathetically. But all these were just sounds. He heard them with his ear. Where were the sounds he used to hear with his mind?

  He closed his eyes and knitted his brows together. Nothing.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw Saidulu doing the same thing.

  There was no point trying to revive Thatha any more. He was gone. The silence in his mind, and the silence in Saidulu’s mind, was proof enough of that. Thatha was gone.

  That thought brought about a fresh wave of whimpers. He gritted his teeth and willed himself to keep quiet, but from within his clenched jaws, the sounds still squeezed out. He lay on his side and immersed his head deep into his chest. He had seen it all. Thatha had called out to them for help, and they had failed him. In fact, in some strange manner, they had been responsible for Thatha’s death.

  He felt anger. Anger at Aravind Bhaiyya for depriving them of… of direction. He prodded in the dark for his crutch. All he found was a water pot. He picked it up and hurled it at Saidulu’s feet. When it made contact and smashed into bits, the skull cracked again, and a fresh trickle of blood flowed onto the mud floor. A howl of triumph welled up deep within him somewhere, but by the time it reached its throat and forced its way out of his mouth, it had turned into another piteous sob.

  He had often thought Saidulu and he had a special bond of their own, that even though Thatha was the main link in their triad, they would be able to function without him. He had thought that over the years they must have developed some talent of their own—enough, he had imagined, to manage. How arrogant of him! How stupid and ignorant of him! Without Thatha, they were both just… just human.

  Yes, just human.

  Just human Thatha is gone who will look after us

  I know stupid Aravind Bhaiyya I want to smash his head again

  Look at him bleed he is dead too poor Aravind Bhaiyya

  Yes yes

  You can hear me?

  Yes! Yes!

  How?

  They heard a voice. ‘Hello, boys.’ It was not as strong or as loud as Thatha’s had been, but it was like jumping into a well on a midsummer afternoon. Or like sucking on a juicy mango when dying of thirst. Or like smelling a rose in a toilet.

  Yes, Mother, they said. Neither of them thought twice about the salutation. It was a female voice and it had saved their lives. She could be nothing else but their mother.

  We have some work to do.

  Yes, Mother.

  Will you do what I tell you to do?

  Yes, Mother.

  If you do, I promise you I will never, ever leave you like Avadhani Thatha has.

  Yes, Mother.

  People will come tomorrow. They will ask questions. Do you know what to tell them?

  No, Mother.

  Good. Tell them what I am going to tell you to tell them.

  Yes, Mother.

  Now, pick up that body…

  Chapter Thirty One

  M
arch 30, 2002

  Memories.

  They were no longer fleeting and thin, here one moment, there the next, so flimsy that they vanished when you looked at them closely. For so long now, faces had been mere shadows and bodies were sticks, the voices all alike. Time was constant and fluid at the same time. Motives blurred, characters meshed, reasons diminished, confusion reigned.

  But now… Yes, now! Everything was once again clear. She had carried the weight of her memories in her soul all this time, and she had felt the weight lessen so imperceptibly with each passing day, the details becoming increasingly sketchier—all details bar the most important one, the one that she did not allow herself to forget even for a second. And now she had something concrete to imprint them on—a real brain—and how they all came running back to her, with such shocking sharpness.

  Life—what she thought of now as her life—had begun on that cold winter night when her father, the Telugu teacher at her school, came home one night and said to her mother, ‘Take that cycle away from her. Tomorrow onwards, she is going to walk to school.’

  She somehow kept her cool all through dinner, and during the Gita-reading afterwards. Her father’s dulcet voice and the precise, easy beauty of his Telugu pronunciation—something which effortlessly transported her every night to the Kurukshetra battlefield—did nothing of the kind today. While he recited verse after verse from the big book, all she could think of was the stony hardness with which he had spoken to her mother a few hours before. She clasped her hands together and dutifully recited the verses after him, but every now and then, her mind and her gaze would go out to the bicycle that stood by the front gate, chained and locked.

  When her father retired to his room, she exploded at her mother. They were in the backyard, washing the dishes and putting them away.

  ‘Why does he do this to me? Why do you take it from him without defending me? You know how much I love cycling.’

  Her mother said, not looking up from the dishes. ‘If he said something, Lakshmi, he usually has a good reason for it.’

  ‘But doesn’t he have to tell us the reason? Do you know the reason?’

  A pause, then, ‘No.’