Left from the Nameless Shop

by Adithi Rao

  Her customers hadn’t arrived yet and she went over to the icebox to peek inside at the cartons of seven freshly prepared flavours of ice cream, crammed inside tightly. She was excited – more than she would allow herself to admit – and very nervous. This far, her creations had only been tasted by friends. Now they would be judged by the unbiased palates of strangers.

  She looked inside the icebox. Then she looked again and frowned. Something was not right. The light inside was not burning, and the ice creams seemed frothy and flaccid. The surrounding frost had begun to thaw.

  ‘Ayyo devare!’ Her cry of distress brought Srikanth rushing to her side in alarm. He took in the situation at once. Panicked, Narayanamma checked and found it properly plugged in.

  ‘Did you forget to–-’

  ‘No, the switch is on, see?’ He pointed and sure enough, it was in the ‘on’ mode. Sri went around the back of the icebox and bent down to examine it. Everything seemed to be alright. He straightened up looking puzzled. Narayanamma’s face was drained of colour.

  By 6.30, a large group of regular customers, friends and neighbours had gathered around. They were appalled by such a turn of events, confused about what could have gone wrong. In the midst of them all stood Narayanamma quietly, her usually sparkling eyes empty. Amidst noisy speculation and exclamations of horror, from the far corner of the store, Srikanth watched his mother in silent dismay.

  ‘The officials from the ice cream company will be here in a couple of hours,’ scolded old man Basavaraj, raising his voice to be heard over the din. ‘You people have wasted enough time on idle chatter. Now take the ice creams out and load them into people’s freezers while I try to figure out what is wrong with this bloody icebox!’

  Lakshmi and Gayathri, Narayanamma’s two best friends, along with a few other women, hurried forward to do his bidding. When all seven cartons had been carried away, Basavaraj, retired head mechanic of Rudrapura Only Mechanics, got down on his haunches and began to check the machine. Suresh, his erstwhile apprentice, went to join him. Using the screw driver that he always carried in his back pocket for just such emergencies, Suresh opened up the machine. The two men peered inside, and immediately recoiled in horror. They tinkered uselessly around for a while, just to make sure, and then slowly rose to their feet.

  ‘The wiring has completely short-circuited,’ said Basavaraj.

  ‘Can’t it be repaired?’ asked someone, hopefully. The old man shook his head grimly. Seeing the look of incomprehension on the faces of the people around, Suresh quickly explained: ‘The AC wires inside are burnt beyond repair. The PCB is so badly damaged that I don’t think anything can be done.’

  ‘But how could this have happened?’ clamoured a number of voices. ‘Was it due to voltage fluc—’

  ‘It was vandalism,’ said Suresh flatly.

  Narayanamma turned pale and sat down abruptly. There was a shocked silence from the others. A vandalized icebox belonging to a woman as universally beloved as Narayanamma, and on a day like this, was nothing short of a catastrophe. The townspeople, peace-loving and trusting by nature, were utterly bewildered. Nobody locked their front door at night, and the last time a robbery had been reported was nine years ago. The Marwari pawnbroker’s shop had been broken into and a gold chain reported missing. Once the flummoxed Rudrapura police had considered, then dismissed their list of suspects (all two of them), they had called in the Chithalli police for assistance, having never handled a crisis of this magnitude before. A full and thorough search of the town had been conducted before the gold chain had been discovered hanging from the branch of a tree in which a troupe of monkeys had taken up residence. The culprit turned out to be a baby monkey who was just small enough to squeeze itself through the tiny vent above the window of the pawn shop and help itself to the first shiny object that caught its eye. The gold chain had been restored to the Marwari’s shop and the case had been closed.

  Now Ranganath cried, ‘It must have been Ranjaiah, your husband’s brother, who vandalized the icebox, Narayani Akka!’

  ‘Yes, Narayani,’ agreed Sakamma, ‘your in-laws are furious that you won this house from them in the court case. They probably wanted revenge.’

  ‘That seems to be the most likely possibility,’ piped in someone.

  ‘Anyway, who else could it be?’ demanded someone else.

  The discussion went on in this vein for several minutes, with Shreelata seconding Sakamma, and Nagendrappa disagreeing with everybody, until, suddenly, old man Basavaraj’s raspy voice rose sternly again.

  ‘Are you people good for nothing but talking?’

  Everyone went silent.

  ‘Good. Now all of you keep out of the way and let Suresha and me get to work.’

  ‘But, Thatha, what can you possibly do?’ reasoned one fellow.

  ‘Son, I was a car mechanic for thirty years. I made no money out of it, but this old head is still good for something. Ay, Suresha?’

  ‘Thatha?’ responded Suresh promptly.

  ‘How many families own cars in Rudrapura now? Four?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Basavaraj thought quickly. ‘We’ll need an inverter and three car batteries to get this icebox running again,’ he said. Then, seeing the hopeful look spring to Narayanamma’s eyes, he added hastily, ‘Temporarily, that is. Just until the officials come and go. Repairing will cost more than the original price, it won’t be worth it, ma,’ he explained more gently, and Narayanamma nodded and dropped her gaze. Looking around, he spotted another of his erstwhile apprentices in the crowd. ‘Rajanna, go borrow the inverter from Sheshadri Saab’s house. He’ll give it to you if you tell him clearly what you want it for. But be clear in your explanation, because if you can’t convince him and he says no, then he won’t change his mind. Wait, you can barely talk. Maniraj, you’re a talker even if that’s all you can do. You may not be good for much else, but you could probably convince a crocodile to sing you lullabies if you tried. You go with Rajanna.’

  Maniraj, junior apprentice at Rudrapura Only Mechanics and dark as soot, was blessed with the whitest teeth a man ever had, despite every effort to never clean them. He grinned now, bestowing their full effect on Basavaraj before skipping off happily behind Rajanna, pleased to have been entrusted with something to do.

  ‘And don’t come back without it!’ Basavaraj called after them. Then he turned to Suresh. ‘Are there any cars in your garage right now?’

  ‘Diesel Pai’s Ambassador.’

  ‘Oh that miser will never agree,’ grumbled Basavaraj under his breath. Then, an idea struck him and he brightened up. ‘It will serve him right. What he doesn’t know about won’t hurt him! And he’ll be of some use to someone, even if it is unknowingly! Okay, we’ll need two more cars. Doctor Ayya will lend us his if we ask him. And Sheshadri Saab probably will too, so that shouldn’t be a problem either. If I can connect the icebox to three car batteries through the inverter, I should be able to get it to work.’

  Within half an hour, three cars were parked side-by-side outside the Nameless Shop, their bonnets propped open with metal rods, and wires connecting the batteries through the inverter to Narayanamma’s icebox. Basavaraj and Suresh were busy at work, Basavaraj suddenly looking ten years younger now that he had found a purpose.

  Half of Rudrapura had converged there, crowding around anxiously. Even Sheshadri Saab and Doctor Bhaskara had wandered over to make sure that the situation was under control. There were few in this town who did not wish Narayanamma well.

  It was 8.45 a.m. by the clock on the wall of the Nameless Shop. Narayanamma and Sri were sitting on the steps outside, and Lakshmi was seated beside them, her quiet presence comforting despite the direness of the situation.

  At 9.00, Basavaraj looked up from his labours and wiped his greasy hands on a bit of cloth. He nodded at Suresh, and all the onlookers moved closer, their hearts beating faster. Only Narayanamma, Srikanth and Lakshmi remained where they were. Narayanamma was holding her breath.
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br />   Suresh flicked on the switch. The icebox sprang to life!

  There was a general cry of approval. Narayanamma suddenly broke down and wept from sheer relief. Everyone cheered and patted the old man and Suresh on the back, and some of the women rushed to embrace Narayanamma, who was smiling through her tears in Lakshmi’s arms. Srikanth had got to his feet and was standing in the corner, beaming. The profusion of women trying to pat and applaud her brought Narayanamma back to her senses. She dried her tears and said briskly (although the effect was rather spoiled by a stuffy nose), ‘Aythu, saaku, enough crying. They’ll be here in half an hour; so let’s get the ice creams out of people’s freezers and load them back into the icebox!’

  People came running up with the ice-cream cartons, crying, ‘Here they are! We’ve already fetched them.’

  Within minutes, the ice creams were back inside the icebox, looking quite splendid. Srikanth arranged the name card of each, just as a car appeared in the distance on the Bangalore highway, heading straight towards them.

  ‘Devare, they are early!’ exclaimed Narayanamma, hurriedly smoothing her hair and straightening her pallu.

  ‘Let’s clear out, everybody. Try to look casual … busy in your own work,’ called Basavaraj.

  The people strolled away but did not wander far, loath to leave the site of the action. They tried so earnestly to look nonchalant and sophisticated that it had the completely opposite effect. Suppressing a smile, Narayanamma greeted the officials from the Elado Ice Cream Company with folded hands as they stepped out of their car. There were two of them, wearing safari suits. They nodded to her and came up the steps to the store.

  Srikanth, knowing his mother was nervous and unsure of herself, came forward and said, ‘Please, sir, sit down,’ indicating the scrubbed-clean plastic chairs he had set out for them in the morning just outside the Nameless Shop. The men walked over to the icebox, peering into it curiously. They were fascinated by the rose ice cream, which was a beautiful shade of pink punctuated with whorls of red petals.

  ‘That looks tempting,’ said Mr Krishnamurthy appreciatively. He and his colleague took their seats.

  ‘Let me help you to some,’ said Narayanamma, bustling forward. She ladled out small helpings into the two glass bowls that had been bought specially for the occasion (because leaf cups would never do).

  And so they went through the flavours one after the other, taking their time to savour each – the look, the taste, the aroma. They loved the tender coconut, rose, coffee and Singapore cherry, and were particularly thrilled with the totapuri flavour’s salty-sweet-with-a-hint-of-sour taste.

  ‘Coffee ice cream is not unusual, ma,’ said Mr Krishnamurthy, ‘but I haven’t tasted any as rich and fresh as yours. Now what is this one you are giving us?’ he added, as Narayanamma brought out another flavour, the last in the icebox. It was white, but had speckles of something else, and tiny bits of cardamom powder scattered over it.

  Narayanamma didn’t reply but stood watching the men keenly as they raised their spoons to their mouths.

  ‘Burfi!’ cried Krishnamurthy in delight. Narayanamma smiled.

  ‘Wonderful! Very innovative, and perfect for the Indian palate! This would sell like the proverbial hot cakes, no, Sebastian?’ he demanded of his colleague, who nodded vigorously.

  ‘What fruit have you used in that ice cream?’ asked Sebastian, pointing to the Singapore cherry flavour.

  Narayanamma opened her mouth to tell them when Srikanth quietly pressed her hand in warning. ‘Just a local fruit, sir,’ he replied.

  ‘Yes, but what is it called?’ insisted Sebastian.

  ‘Our local name for it is rakhtabeejaphalam,’ said Srikanth, and he met Sebastian’s horrified expression with an innocent one of his own.

  Narayanamma stared at her son, scandalized by this outlandish lie! Srikanth, trying to keep a straight face, did not meet her eyes.

  ‘Sir,’ said Srikanth politely, ‘please don’t ask us the names of the ingredients. They might sound unpleasant and turn you off. The only thing that matters is that you like the ice creams. Do you?’

  Krishnamurthy burst out laughing at Sebastian’s disconcerted face. ‘Sabby, that’s this smart young man’s way of telling you to stick to the product and not try to steal the recipe! Well, ma,’ he said, turning to Narayanamma, ‘we love the ice creams! But we’ll need to discuss the matter over in private. Please give us a few minutes.’

  Narayanamma nodded and hurried away to clear the bowls, while Srikanth replaced the ice-cream cartons in the icebox. Meanwhile, Krishnamurthy and Sebastian put their heads together and argued feverishly in low voices. The discussion lasted a few minutes. All the while, Narayanamma and Srikanth tried to appear calm but were actually most apprehensive. They avoided looking at each other or at their friends who were hovering not far away, eagerly awaiting the verdict.

  At last, Mr Sebastian looked up and said in a voice that carried, ‘Vanilla, chocolate and mango we won’t outsource, ma. We make those ourselves. Coffee flavour we are not yet certain about. We make that as well, but yours is better, so we’ll discuss it with our chairman and get back to you. For all the other flavours, we would like to give you a three-year contract from the Elado Ice Cream Company.’

  Narayanamma shot a glance at her son and saw that his eyes were dancing with joy in his otherwise poker face. In the distance, her friends were grinning and embracing each other. She looked at the two officials, trying to remain calm and professional. But tears kept welling up in her eyes and she kept blinking them back.

  ‘You understand that this means that you cannot supply ice creams to any other company for that period of … ma, are you alright?’ broke off Krishnamurthy quickly in concern.

  ‘Yes!’ whispered Narayanamma as a tear spilled out from the corner of her eye. ‘Yes,’ she said again, swiping at her eyes and nodding vigorously.

  The officials smiled kindly at her and got to their feet. They handed her a document and showed her where to sign. Then they gave her another copy of the same with their signatures on it, making the deal official. As they walked towards their car, Krishnamurthy suddenly turned around and said with a laugh in his voice, ‘Our company will be happy to give you a new icebox free of cost. But, madam, please make sure that you run it on electricity and not car batteries!’

  Narayanamma gulped and smiled weakly. The officials got into their car and drove away. She stood watching them go, the contract pressed to her heart. Then she turned around slowly to look at all her friends who had gathered around the shop again. She held up the contract high in the air for them to see, and they burst out clapping.

  Suresh and old man Basavaraj quickly unplugged the car batteries and dismantled the contraption, knowing that there was no time to lose. Diesel Pai might pass that way at any time and see to what use his car was being put.

  ‘Oh, but Thatha, the ice creams will be ruined. What a waste!’ exclaimed Ranganath in dismay.

  Narayanamma looked around with a broad smile. ‘Would you people do me a favour and help me get rid of all this ice cream before it melts?’ she called, and the faces around her lit up. The children gave a whoop of joy and rushed forward. Narayanamma, back to her busy, no-nonsense self, picked up the scoop and dived into the icebox. Srikanth, armed with a second scoop, dived in after her.

  They came up with coffee and vanilla in the leaf cups. ‘No, wait,’ cried Narayanamma, ‘the first scoops are for Basavaraj Thatha and Suresha!’

  After the cups had been pressed into the laughing hands of the two heroes of the day, Srikanth and Narayanamma started to dole out the rest of the ice cream right and left amidst much gaiety and merry-making. Suddenly, Ranganath spotted a sullen man in the distance, watching them with a scowl on his face.

  ‘Ay Narayani, look, it’s Ranjaiah, your husband’s brother!’ he cried in a voice that carried. Everybody turned to see, and their smiles faded.

  ‘Look at his expression,’ said someone. ‘It’s a dead give-away! He�
��s definitely the one who vandalized your icebox!’

  ‘Bloody fool!’ cried one woman angrily. ‘Bloody coward! He’s come to see whether his dirty ploy worked.’

  Ranjaiah, sensing their hostility, quickly turned to leave. Narayanamma raised her voice and called pleasantly, ‘Ranjaiah! Banni, banni, won’t you join us? We are celebrating my new contract with the company from Bangalore, and the ice cream’s on the house!’

  4

  The Awakening

  Raghuvir opened his eyes earlier than usual that morning. The birds were quiet, and the first rays of the sun hadn’t appeared over the horizon yet. In that moment of utter blankness, before the first thought of the day stirred, Raghuvir was nothing. Just a man lying on a mat, looking into the darkness.

  He wondered why he had woken up this early. Then he remembered that he had promised to attend to the morning worship at the Anjaneya Temple in Chithalli while Brahmayya was away on work in Shivamogga. He would have to finish the puja there before returning to Rudrapura to attend to his own. With this thought, the anonymity of self fled, and Raghuvir became the temple priest that he was. And so began another day.

  Raghuvir looked at the sleeping form of his mother in the opposite corner of the single-room house they shared. Better not wake her, he thought, or she will be tired by noon. Her asthma had worsened in the past week, and Raghu made a mental note that a check-up with Doctor Bhaskara was due. Noiselessly, he got to his feet, rolled up his straw mat and placed it against the wall. Then he removed the chain from the wooden door and stepped outside.

  ‘What time is it, Raghu?’ his mother mumbled sleepily.

  He let out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He’d been extremely careful not to make a sound, but she had woken up anyway. She had an instinct when it came to him.

  ‘Go back to sleep, Amma. It’s very early still,’ he said softly into the darkness.

  ‘Hmm.’ She rolled onto her side, closing her eyes again.

  Raghuvir finished his ablutions, then performed sandhya vandane wearing his freshly washed clothes, as was the Brahmin custom. The chill air caressed his damp garment. As he assumed the posture for the chanting of the Gayatri mantra, tiny goosebumps sprang up across his body.