THE PUPPETEERS OF PALEM Read online

  A song popped into his mind. Woh kaagaz ki kashti, woh baarish ka paani…

  Sweat poured down his forehead and dripped onto the cracked ground. It was supposed to be spring, he thought. It was supposed to be harvest season. Why was everything so dried up? This was the Godavari belt, wasn’t it? The Arthur Cotton dam was not more than a mile away. Irrigation should not be a problem. Then why was the ground so parched?

  The boy took no notice of him. He kept staring at the boat in his hand. Woh kaagaz ki kashti…

  The group of fighting crows had grown bigger now, numbering about fifteen. Venkataramana noticed that all the crows were poking and clawing at one crow in the middle. It kept trying to take wing and fly away but the other crows would not let it. Every time it tried to jump away from its attackers, they would pin it down with their beaks and scratch its sides.

  The boy looked at the spectacle too. When Venkataramana took a step towards the crows, the boy said, ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Don’t scare them away.’

  ‘I want to save the bird.’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said, looking back at his boat. ‘Don’t you know that crows punish their flock members by killing it? Justice has to be done.’

  He looks like a baby version of some sort of anti-buddha, Venkataramana decided. The boy’s face carried serenity, yes, but it was masking something volatile under the surface. Much like this cracked earth.

  Venkataramana took another step towards the screeching birds.

  ‘No! Don’t!’

  Good one, Ramana. You’re being told what to do by a boy. A cripple.

  Two crows mounted the criminal crow and pinned it to the ground.

  What is he going to do? Beat you up with those crutches of his?

  Two others started pecking the criminal’s eyes out. The air filled with a cacophony of caws, the loudest coming from the victim.

  Sniffle, sniffle, sniffle; I am scared of the cripple.

  The cawing reduced. One by one the crows started to disperse. But two of them remained to peck at the wounded carcass. The legs of the dead crow had folded on top of themselves and gone limp. Its attackers, though, hacked away mercilessly.

  ‘They are going to eat it,’ the boy said.

  Venkataramana said, ‘That’s rubbish. Crows are not cannibalistic. They—’ He caught himself and stared.

  One of the crows held the leg of the dead crow in its beak and stretched it. The other pecked at the flesh until it gave way. Once the limb got dismembered, they held the ends and pulled in opposite directions until each one had a piece. Seemingly satisfied with their respective spoils, they stepped away to feed before coming back for the other leg.

  ‘No,’ Venkataramana said, shaking his head in disbelief and disgust.

  The boy did not say anything. He turned and stepped away from the Gandhi statue, in the direction of the school building. ‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘I have homework.’

  Venkataramana walked up to the statue and picked up the paper boat from the pedestal. The boy had left it behind. From the side, the cawing of the crows had become softer and more contented, presumably because their hunger was satiated. Without thinking, he started unfolding the paper boat, bit by bit. His neck and his back seemed to be on fire. His knees and hands shivered. He thought of two things at the same time.

  Woh kagaz ki kashti, woh baarish ka paani…

  Sniffle, sniffle, sniffle; I am scared of the cripple.

  Chapter Four

  1984

  Crickets. So many crickets.

  They seemed to be everywhere. Chanti had caught a cricket the night before in front of his hut. He had used two sticks from the broom to pin it by the wings. It had not struggled to get away. It had merely leaned forward, lifted its legs and scratched itself under the wings. He had wanted to squash it to stop that horrible noise, but he only had the two thin broom sticks for weapons. And he was too afraid to squash it with his hand. It had such big eyes. And so many.

  It was the season of crickets. They made that sound because they wanted to get married, his mother had once told him. They got married, and then had baby crickets who would get married the next year and have more baby crickets who would come back the following year to get married—there was just no end to it. The only way out of it was to kill them all. One day he would squash them all. No, not with his hands. With a hammer. Yes, maybe when he was as old as Aravind.

  They were walking through the babul bushes down the narrow path to the Shivalayam.

  ‘Thorns,’ Venkarataramana said. ‘Thorns everywhere.’

  Aravind did not turn back. ‘These are babul bushes, Ramana. You expect thorns.’

  ‘We should have brought a torch.’

  It was Sarayu’s idea that they did not need a torch. But there was no blaming her. How was she to know that the clouds would gather with such haste?

  ‘It better not rain,’ Venkataramana said sulkily.

  Sarayu did not say anything. Her anklets were the only sounds that accompanied the harried croaks of the crickets. Chanti had always liked the sound of her anklets—the smoothness of her hair too, but mainly her anklets—but now, with thorns strewn upon their dark path and with their destination just coming into view as a black shadow looming ahead of them, he wished she had come bare-footed. The sound, sweet though it was, was beginning to get creepy.

  ‘Why are we going to the Shivalayam? Thatha said—’

  ‘Chotu, if you are feeling scared, run back to the house,’ Aravind had snapped.

  Ghal. Ghal. Ghal.

  He wouldn’t run back, of course. It was a good two kilometres to Chotu’s house. Hell, Chanti knew that even he himself would have wet his pants if he had to walk back to his house alone. If there had been a time to pull out of this, it was at Thatha’s house. Chanti wished he had. But Aravind had given him the ‘run home to Mother, kid’ look. How he hated that look!

  They came to the lingam and stood near it in a huddle. Behind it, the Kalikadevi tree stood silhouetted by the silvery grey clouds, extending its branches downward in a canopy. It was stupid, he knew, but the tendrils at the ends of the branches nearest to them looked like fingers. Any moment now, one of them would snap him up. The lingam would open at the top and Chotu would disappear under it, screaming and snatching.

  Something moved under the leaves. Lizards probably. Or snakes.

  From somewhere close by, beyond the tree and just out of view, a dog whimpered; a low, whiney sound that went on for eleven interminable seconds. Chanti counted out each second.

  He heard the clack of knees next to him. Venkataramana’s bow legs were shivering. Chotu’s hand tightened around his. The only ones that made no sound or movement were Aravind and Sarayu. How nice it would be to hear the sound of her anklets just about now?

  Aravind bent down and picked up a stick. ‘Aravind, Thatha told us a story,’ Chanti said. His voice sounded very small and insignificant, like an echo coming from a distant place. All Chanti could hear was the whimpering of the dog. ‘And I want to see if Lachi will come here tonight.’

  ‘Are there… snakes here?’ Venkataramana asked.

  ‘I want to ask her what she is doing here. I want to know whom she wants to kill.’

  ‘How do you know she wants to kill someone?’ Sarayu asked. She moved a little and her anklets jingled. Why was she even listening to what Aravind was saying? Who cared what Lachi wanted? Thatha had told them never to go to the Shivalayam. Chanti wondered for a second if he should turn back and leave. Let Aravind do what he wanted. Let him die.

  ‘Dead people don’t hang around if their job here is done. If they don’t leave us, it means they want revenge.’

  ‘But she was crazy,’ Sarayu said.

  ‘Was she?’ Aravind walked around the lingam, tapping at it with the stick. ‘Oye, Ramana, come here. Chanti, Chotu, come.’ He reached into his pocket and held out his hand. ‘Here, tamarind gum. It will keep you safe.’

  None
of them asked what from. They held out their hands.

  ‘Ouch!’ he said and slapped his wrist. ‘Mosquitoes.’ He bent down and picked up the piece of gum. He touched each of their hands with the gum. It was sticky. ‘Keep touching it now and then.’

  None of them asked why. Chanti immediately started dabbing a finger on the sticky spot of his palm. It got stickier and stickier with each touch. I cannot see the others, but I bet they’re doing it too, he thought. Yes, even Sarayu.

  They sat down around the lingam, holding hands. Sarayu’s hand in his felt limp and lifeless. Every now and then, he would release the pressure on her palm and dab his finger on the sticky smudge. The crickets had stopped croaking now. The night was once again silent. They were far away from the village. Sitting like a bunch of goats waiting to be butchered. That is, if goats held hands. They had tamarind gum on their hands too. Some pickle to go with the meat. Pichi Lachi would come any time now and pick them off, one by one.

  Will she come with a rock? With that old rolling stone stained with Chakali Sangadu’s blood?

  Why was it so damned silent?

  Or did she have a new rock now—a brand new rock for a brand new slaughter.

  Why were Sarayu’s anklets not making any sound? He reached out with his foot and tapped it against hers.

  Ghal. Ghal. Ghal.

  He stopped. That was no better. In fact, it was much worse. It made him think of women’s feet. Of Lachi’s feet. Did she have feet, first of all? If she did, were they turned around the other way? Did she still have teeth after all these years?

  Teeth or fangs?

  His eyes closed. The branches of the tree swayed in the breeze and made rustling—no, rumbling—noises. He drifted off into semi-consciousness. The last thing he saw that night was the image of an old woman clad in white, the edge of her sari draped around her faceless head, two curved, conical fangs protruding from nothingness where her mouth should have been, and a vertically slit tongue showing itself every now and then before vanishing behind the featureless whiteness. And her hands were the long, slender branches of the Kalikadevi tree, swaying in the breeze, wrapped around a smooth, oval rock. There was no blot on it. A new rock for a new goat.

  And the last thing he heard was a soft, thudding sound. Nice and slow. Slow and rhythmic.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  It was the beating of his heart.

  ‘She did not come.’ Aravind’s voice was bitter with disappointment. ‘And where the hell is Chotu?’

  Chanti kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, savouring the relief. Whether Lachi had come for them or not last night, the fact that he was able to hear Aravind’s words was proof—sweet proof indeed—that he was still alive. How nice it was to be alive.

  ‘Why do you think she did not come?’ Sarayu’s voice sounded so much sweeter this morning. Last night, it had felt like someone had their hand wrapped around her throat. She had spoken in short, desperate gasps and snaps. Now, there was the old lilt to her voice that he liked so much. ‘Don’t worry about Chotu, he probably woke up before us and walked back to the village.’

  He waited for the sound of her anklets.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Aravind said. Even Aravind’s voice had smoothened from last night. Yes, it was definitely good to be alive. Maybe she was scared of our tamarind gum. I should not have brought it but for these… mouses.’

  ‘Mice,’ Sarayu corrected.

  ‘Next time, I will come alone. Next time, I will not bring any of these fellows. I will come without tamarind gum. When she comes, I will ask her—’

  ‘I will come with you.’

  ‘Are you crazy? There will be no gum on your hands.’

  A second’s silence. Then, again, ‘I will come with you.’

  Chanti heard her move, but there was no sound. He opened his eyes. She was sitting up against the lingam with her arms wrapped around her knees. The hem of her skirt hitched up.

  ‘Right,’ said Aravind. ‘Let’s wake the others up and go home. Not a word to your parents about where we spent the night, okay?’

  Chanti nodded absently.

  ‘Hey,’ Aravind was saying to Sarayu, ‘where are your anklets?’

  Yes, her anklets. If it were not for them, wouldn’t he have gone crazy last night? Was there a sweeter sound in this world than the sound of Sarayu’s anklets? Chanti did not think so. He smiled with contentment as the ghal of last night echoed in his ear.

  Sarayu said, ‘I did not wear them yesterday.’

  Thud. Chanti opened an eye. Slowly, he let his gaze move down her body. Her ankles were bare. Beautiful, but bare.

  ‘Too bad. Your anklets—are nice.’ Aravind walked around the lingam to wake the others. ‘Ramana, oye Ramana!’

  She blushed and turned around, holding him in her gaze. ‘My mother took them to have the clips mended.’

  Thud.

  ‘I will wear them tomorrow—if you want.’

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Cold and clear, Chanti started hearing his heart pound again.

  Chapter Five

  2001

  Deranged Palem Murderer Dies in Hospital

  Vaartha, Dhavaleshwaram

  |Feb 25, 2001|

  Sub-Inspector at the Dhavaleshwaram police station, Varda Reddy, has confirmed that Aravind Nookala, the man who tried, two days ago, to set fire to the village of Palem and was stopped by two young boys, has died in hospital without recovering from his coma.

  The official cause of death has been recorded as a combination of internal and external bleeding, the former caused by the blows to his head from the crutches belonging to the boys, and the latter caused by the boys’ bites on his thighs and knees. There is also a knife wound on his left shoulder. When asked if the boys will be charged with anything, Reddy replied that they might have to take the boys into custody as a formality. He has, however, repeatedly reiterated that the likelihood of the boys being punished was exceptionally small.

  News segment on Ee Roju presented by Sonali Rao

  7:30 p.m.

  | Feb 27, 2001 |

  ‘How do you feel about the boys being arrested, Saraswatamma?’

  ‘Very bad. These boys have saved the village from a madman, and they get punished as a result.’

  ‘But the police are saying they are taking them only as a formality.’

  ‘Oh, but that’s what they always say. We won’t just stand by watching if something happens to one of those boys. They come to my house everyday to drink milk. I might not be their real mother, but I’ve always thought of them as my own sons.’

  ‘What do you have to say about Saidulu and Ramesh?’

  ‘Both very good boys. They are both orphans—only god knows who gave birth to them. But they are the sons of every family in this village. The true sons of Palem itself. We all are very proud of them.’

  ‘Do you have anything to say to the police for taking them away?’

  ‘All I have to say to the police on this is, can’t they catch the real murderers? What are we supposed to do if we see someone trying to light up our houses, hain? What are we supposed to do, tell us? Just stand by and watch? Why are you catching these boys who saved all of us? Without them, who knows how many of us could have died yesterday? This looks correct to you? No, this is not correct. Not correct at all. Please return them. Please.’

  ‘Shetty gaaru, you are the school headmaster. Do you know these boys personally?’

  ‘Yes. Both of them are very hardworking boys.’

  ‘Intelligent?’

  ‘Very intelligent. I have never seen them being handicapped by their disabilities.’

  ‘So they were able to compete with the rest of the students?’

  ‘Oh yes. With Saidulu, we have to order special books and everything, but Ramesh competes favourably with the best of my students.’

  ‘And I heard they were good at sports too.’

  ‘Oh yes. They make a great kabaddi pair.’

  ‘What do you
think of the police taking them away?’

  ‘What can I say? It’s such a disgrace. I just hope they come back safe and sound.’

  ‘Look, I just washerman. I not know any big words. But they tell us the boys save the village, hain? And then they take them away. We all see Aravind babu’s body, hain? Everyone know that since he come down here, he make nothing but trouble. But burning the village—that is bad, hain? So the boys stopped him. I say good on them. They did not want to kill him—but even if they did, I say so what? Look, I am very simple man; if someone want to kill two hundred fifty people, then is it wrong to kill him? Hain? I say no, it is not. But who going to tell all this to the police, hain? I just washerman. I not know to talk big words. I just tell you what I feel.

  So that is how the village of Palem is reacting to the decision of the Dhavaleshwaram police to arrest the two boys who risked their lives to stop Aravind Nookala from burning the village down. If the two boys really are heroes as the police admitted, then where is the justice in their arrest? And if the arrest was merely a formality as the police suggested, why is it taking them so long to release them? It is now two days since the boys have been absent from the village.

  For almost everyone in Palem, that is two days too many.

  For Ee Roju, this is Sonali Rao.

  Excerpt from Demons of the Mind (Visalandhra Publications, 2003), reprinted here with the permission of authorsDr Lakshmana Rao and Dr Mohammad Khadeer, Department of Psychology, Osmania University.

  In the East Godavari district of Andhra Pradesh, under the municipal corporation of Rajahmundry, is a town called Dhavaleshwaram. It sits by the bank of the prominent Godavari river and is the closest human settlement to the famous Arthur Cotton dam. The residents of the town regard the dam as their own.

  Northwest of this town, snuck into a corner so that you would not find it unless you looked for it, is a small village that answers to the name of Rudrakshapalem. At last count, this village had a population of two hundred and twenty-eight. There is no direct bus service available and the only way to get to the village is to catch a bus to Dhavaleswaram and complete the journey either on foot or in an ox-cart.