Baby Doll

by Gracy

  ‘What’s the use of going there now?’

  Simon Peter adopted a serious tone, ‘I have some urgent business there.’

  A devious smile spread on the lips of the local guy. ‘Okay then, as you wish! Go along this field and you will reach a rivulet. Cross the rivulet and you will step into a patch of land overrun with weeds and trees. The house is right in the middle.’

  Simon Peter was taken aback when he reached the place. How can anyone live in the midst of this forest?

  This Puthanveedu was hardly new; it showed its age. With its cracks and tumbledown appearance, it seemed unlikely that there were people living in it. Standing in the front yard, Simon Peter called out, ‘Isn’t anyone home?’

  A woman came out of the house. Though her traditional attire of white mundu and blouse seemed soiled with overuse, her youth did not seem to have been drained away entirely. Nonetheless, her hair was completely white.

  Simon Peter asked, ‘Aren’t you Sara’s mother?’

  She was startled. ‘Who are you, young man?’

  ‘I’m her acquaintance.’

  Taking the thorth on her shoulder to wipe the dust off a stool, she invited him, ‘Come, come and sit.’ After he sat down, she asked, ‘Is there something in particular…?’

  Uncertain as to how to approach the issue, Simon Peter shifted to small talk. ‘Where is Sara’s father?’

  With the fire of anger still not doused in her suddenly damp eyes, she said, ‘He must be in the arrack shop down the road.’

  ‘What about Sara’s brother?’

  ‘Don’t ask that, my boy. He is not in his senses any more.’

  Simon Peter felt that he had now found an opening to bring up his enquiry.

  ‘Sara too seems to have some emotional trouble…’

  Her face frozen like stone, Sara’s mother stopped him. ‘Don’t start with those things again, young man. Everything that had to happen has happened. When the news of Sara committing suicide with sleeping pills reached us, her father was in the arrack shop. I didn’t even manage to see my daughter’s body. I don’t want to hear anything more. Now you better leave, please.’

  Sara’s mother turned back abruptly and disappeared into the darkness.

  Simon Peter was left alone. Who had erred and where? Or is it that everyone in this house was mentally unstable? Without bothering to say goodbye, he walked out.

  While he was climbing down to the bund in a paddy field, he spotted a man swaying as he was crossing the rivulet. He quickly guessed who it must be.

  ‘Aren’t you Sara’s father?’

  Sara’s father took off the thorth he had tied around his head like a turban and retied it.

  ‘Who are you, boy?’

  ‘An acquaintance of Sara’s. I came to pass on some information to the family. I met only Sara’s mother.’

  Sara’s father came close to Simon Peter, peered into his face, and burst out laughing, diffusing the stink of arrack into the air.

  ‘Wasn’t it with my own eyes that I saw her hanging from the rafter on the ceiling? With her eyes popping out, tongue bitten, and scratches all over her body. I can’t remember the things that happened afterwards because I had had a little too much that day. Anyway, by daybreak, the folk around here ensured that she was placed in her grave. Did that good-for-nothing return from the grave or something?’

  Simon Peter stood astounded as Sara’s father climbed on to the yard and disappeared from view, loudly singing ‘Amazing Grace!’ He took control of himself and started walking. When he reached the road, he asked the man approaching from the opposite direction, ‘Which is the way to the arrack shop?’

  Simon Peter felt that he would get to know more about Sara’s people if he were to talk to the toddy shop guy. Because darkness had begun to set in, he could not make out if it was the same local fellow that he had met on the way to Sara’s house.

  With a sly smile, the other replied, ‘Must be very thirsty now.’

  That is when Simon Peter recognized him. Ignoring that question, he said, ‘I went and met everyone. I met Sara’s father near that rivulet.’

  The man’s eyes bulged. ‘Sara’s father? Didn’t he drown in the streamlet one evening while returning home fully drunk!’

  Simon was stunned. He wondered which ghost town he had strayed into. He peered suspiciously into the man’s face. Reading his mind, the local guy burst into loud laughter. ‘I’m not a ghost, okay?’

  Abruptly, Simon Peter flagged down a bus which had come revving in, lighting up the darkness. When the vehicle stopped, he scrambled in hurriedly. That loud laughter was still tugging at him. Hanging on to the handrail of the bus, he looked around him with relief. The next instant, he wondered whether this bus and its passengers too were of this earth.

  Alighting at the main bus stand, and waiting for the last bus to his hometown, Simon Peter opened his mind and ejected all the characters that he had come across that day. The bus was quite empty and he sat in a window seat. The cool breeze made him doze off, worn with anxiety and fatigue as he was.

  It was midnight when he reached town. Hiring an auto, Simon Peter went straight to Alexander’s quarters, knocked and waited.

  It was a heavily moustachioed man who opened the door. Apologetically, Simon Peter said, ‘I would like to see Alexander please.’

  In a rough voice, the moustachioed man enquired, ‘Alexander? Which Alexander? I am the one who is staying here now.’

  Simon Peter went pale. He stuttered, ‘But … Alexander and I…’

  The moustachioed man trembled with anger.

  ‘What nonsense are you talking about, waking people in the dead of night? Which crypt have you crawled out from?’

  He banged the door in Simon Peter’s face. Maybe because he had been too rude, he opened the door again, stuck his head out and said, ‘If you are looking for the Alexander who lived here before, he died in a car accident along with his wife and child.’

  Staring at the door, which was closing again, Simon Peter smiled bitterly. He realized that though he had come far away from that village, he had certainly not escaped the abode of the dead. He walked aimlessly, not knowing where he had reached. Suddenly, he stopped, seeing innumerable crosses sprouting from the ground like mushrooms after a shower of rain. He became conscious that he was standing in a cemetery. He bowed respectfully to all the souls in the crypts, wishing them eternal peace. Reading the name, and the dates of birth and death on the first crypt, he moved on to the next. On one plaque, he read:

  ‘Simon Peter’

  ‘Birth…’

  ‘Death…’

  Straightening up, he exploded into laughter. But it was a laughter of silence.

  (Bhoomiyude Rahasyangal)

  17

  This Is Joseph’s Story; Anna’s Too

  My dearest reader, your question is why my stories never traverse the luminous paths of life. It is not that you are not aware that all the paths of this world are being taken over by darkness. Since those responsible are human beings themselves, what is the point of being disappointed that I am not a storyteller who spreads light?

  Anyway, for you I am weaving a story. This is going to be the story of a small family. First, let me install them on the whiteness of paper. Then they too will start living like us. Thereafter, we just need to observe them. We can hope that light may fall in this story, as Joseph, the head of the house, is a magnanimous man. However, reader, about his wife Anna, nothing can be said beforehand. That, anyway, is the case with women.

  Look – Joseph is waking up now. Over him is draped the leg of his daughter sleeping on his right. On his left sleeps Anna, her cheek resting on his shoulder. Joseph is getting up slowly, savouring the feeling that, in their colony, Sundays do have a gentle beauty. He opens the door to the porch and takes in the purity of the morning. Then, with a new-found vigour, his eyes begin to take a walk across the slopes of the blushing horizon. He begins to marvel at the beauty of the world. He wishes that he coul
d go to the ends of the earth through such moments. By then, like a bird with damaged wings, the newspaper swoops in, diving headlong into the yard. He frets that the newspaper, which shudders for one last time and lies motionless, will erase all the loveliness of the morning. Worried that the black letters on its pages will, like stinging black ants, crawl into all his vulnerable points and bite, he retreats into the house.

  Going into the kitchen to make black coffee, and pouring Anna’s and his daughter’s share into the flask, Joseph relaxes into the warmth of his cup. It will be eight by the time Anna and his daughter wake up. He recalls that Sundays had lost the sweetness of repose from the day Anna declared that Sunday breakfast would be prepared by Joseph, the son of Mathai. It was on the same day that Joseph had asked Anna if they could manage on one person’s earnings. In response, Anna had rendered him speechless with a long essay on women’s identity.

  After hoisting the idli cooker on to the stove, Joseph is about to leave. When he stoops to pick up the newspaper, the sound of people running on the road dashes against his chest. Over the gate, Joseph sees a girl running, followed by a man sprinting behind her. Rushing past the immobilized Joseph, the vision moves two houses further. At that point, the man is able to catch the flying tresses of the girl. A sound escapes the girl’s throat. Animal or human? With that, all the houses in the colony glide into wakefulness. Opening doors, one by one, people begin to step out.

  Yawning, and tying up his mundu after shaking it well, the neighbour opens his gate to enquire what the matter is.

  ‘This girl is a maid at my house. It’s not even three months since she arrived. I brought this one because my wife is bedridden,’ the man says.

  Beyond the words that scatter around, Joseph is observing him: stout, short, swollen face, and small eyes that bother him for no reason.

  Joseph turns to his neighbour. Not even lifting a little finger to cover his yawn, the neighbour is heard asking, ‘So then?’

  ‘This fiend has now embarked on some vile enterprises. After we all fall asleep, this creature, who sleeps next to the kitchen, opens the door for a man. If she ends up pregnant, who will shoulder the blame? The moment I confronted her, she bolted like a horse! Can I leave it be? I am answerable to this creature’s family.’

  His eyes narrowing to two slits, Joseph wonders about the truth beyond those lines.

  Sleep is shaking its wings and flying from the eyes of the women who have stepped out of the houses, following their men. The girl’s head hangs low as the looks of disgust begin to peck her. As she stands there like a blot on the whiteness of the morning, the man grabs her hand and twists it, muttering, ‘Walk, you corpse!’

  She raises her face. Her look is like that of a cow being led to slaughter. She looks at every face assembled around her. On her charred lips, a silent scream lies trapped, pleading, ‘Help me!’ When her glance reaches Joseph, he lunges forward slightly to ask what the girl has to say. Abruptly, a cold hand falls on his back. Anna’s presence crawls through his spinal cord and halts his leap forward.

  When she realizes that no one will come to her aid, she makes one more attempt to shake free and run. Gripped by the man’s iron fist, a spring of scalding water begins to flow from her eyes. Noticing the fingermarks on her pale cheeks and thin throat, Joseph begins to traverse the other side of the story.

  Excited, he turns towards Anna. ‘Anna, what do you think? Isn’t what he says an absolute lie?’

  Anna is staring at Joseph as if he is a stranger. Oblivious of the accusation in her eyes, Joseph continues, ‘Go to that girl and bring her over here. She’s sure to tell the truth, if we ask her.’

  Anna’s stare is getting frostier. Then, like pulling out a blanket, Joseph retrieves an old speech that Anna had delivered once: ‘Wasn’t it you, Anna, who said a woman’s…’

  Suddenly, Anna snarls, ‘Shut up, Joseph!’

  When Anna swerves around and walks back, Joseph is left standing, dumbfounded.

  Dear reader, here, we may diverge from our prior resolution and follow that girl. However, if we do, it will be more than evident that not even a speck of light can be found in that girl’s life. So, we are following Joseph. Instead of waiting for the finale of the drama outside to unravel, Joseph exclaims, ‘I don’t understand at all, Anna!’

  A sarcastic smile flashes on her lips. ‘Why do you have so much pity for her?’

  As the girl’s soiled portrait keeps shaking his heart, Joseph is left struggling for words. ‘Hey, Anna, my heart says that it was he himself who has been abusing that wretched girl…’

  With a stern expression, Anna butts in, ‘Joseph, when did you learn to tell stories so beautifully? It must have been you who passed through that kitchen door she opened…’

  Not just me, reader, but you too must be watching Joseph staggering on his feet as if he has been slapped hard. The rigidity on Anna’s face has not dimmed one bit. Then, whose laughter do we hear now, scattering between us like overripe grain?

  (Ithu Josephinte Katha; Annayudeyum)

  18

  Orotha and the Ghosts

  As Orotha lit a torch of dried coconut fronds and stepped out into the yard, Pennamma chettathi asked yet again, ‘Hey, do you really have to go tonight, Orotha? It’s not as if you have children or things to fret over! Can’t you sleep somewhere here?’

  Moonlight shone luminous on Orotha’s lips as she stepped into the darkness. ‘My husband is scared to sleep alone. And I’m sweating all over. Without a bath and a change of clothes, I can’t sleep.’

  Usually, once her work was over, she took care to leave well before dusk.

  But today, it was when she was about to leave that Pennamma chettathi’s daughter and son-in-law arrived from Kochi. Then a rooster that had strayed into the coop had to be caught and turned into a curry. The two pieces that Pennamma chettathi had scooped out from the curry were still warm in Orotha’s hand.

  ‘Oh, such a craving my man has for meat! Whenever I see his hunger, I just can’t help teasing him: “If you go on like this, you might even end up eating me!” It is always a pleasure to see him beam like a torchlight as he teases me in return: “But wasn’t it your plump meat that convinced me to marry you?” His sly glance will find my breasts and linger there, even as a wink will tell me that they are still flawless. That’s when my heart always turns heavy, making me sigh: “Isn’t it because I’m not destined to bear and raise children…” At this, he will smoothly switch to philosophizing: “What’s the use of having children, my Orotha? The only benefit is that a whole lifetime may turn into hell, slaving for them. And when they become strong enough, they will fly the nest. That’s all. As for us, what’s missing here? We work. We live happily. When we reach a stage when we can’t any more, we can even leave together.” “Oh, as if that’s in our hands!” I will pout. “I have found a way for all that, my lass, because I’m afraid to lie in the earth without you!”’

  Recollecting all this, Orotha laughed.

  From behind her came the sound of someone else’s laughter joining hers eerily. Without turning back, Orotha flashed her torch, waving it in the air, and snapped, ‘Out, you devil! Don’t you dare play with me. I’ve heard the story of how you once misguided my mother-in-law on a night like this. But then, this is Orotha!’

  With a rumble that pierced the eardrums, a gust of wind whooshed past Orotha. Past the cashew grove lay Orotha’s house. Many had hanged themselves in this grove. The owners being far away, the place lay neglected and unfenced. Anyone could enter and commit suicide there.

  Orotha swung her torch vigorously and entered the cashew grove. The blast of air that preceded Orotha caught hold of the cashew tree on which the corpse of Ittaman, the blacksmith, was hanging, and shook the branches, mocking her with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, revealing all its teeth. Before the grin disappeared, Ittaman called out from the top of the tree, ‘Orotha, woman! Don’t leave without giving a piece of meat for Ittaman here!’

  He
re, Orotha became animated. ‘Bah! Good for nothing! Your woman gave everything she cooked to her other guy only because you had no spunk. Which fool of a man other than you would hang himself because she ran away?’

  On the branch of the cashew tree, Ittaman fell silent. The wind let go of Ittaman’s tree and fled to awaken the ghost of the astrologer Shanta.

  ‘Orotha chettathi, hey! Am I not pregnant? Give me a piece of meat before you go!’

  Orotha melted with pity and said, ‘Shanta koche!24 Couldn’t you have trapped someone other than the son of your father’s elder brother? Isn’t he like your own sibling, koche?’

  Assailed by the memory of her wanton act, the pregnant ghost remained hanging from the low branch of a cashew tree.

  The wind sped again to scare Orotha.

  It shook one-armed Outha until he was awake and whispered something into his ear. Before Outha could ask anything, Orotha said, ‘Outha, you’re indeed a remarkable fellow! In the span of a single night, and that too with that one arm of yours, didn’t you manage to move twenty sacks of pepper from the attic of the big house? However, when it was discovered and a case was filed against you, you were foolish enough to commit suicide.’

  The one-armed ghost was mortified. He simply stared at the sky, eyes popping out.

  When Orotha saw the wind trying again to scale another cashew tree, she waved it aside. ‘Don’t waste your time, devil! Just go straight to hell or wherever. See, this is my house here…’

  When Orotha’s footsteps were heard from the front yard of the house, a question trembled on the lips of Orotha’s man: ‘Who’s there?’

  Orotha bent down and crushed the burning tip of the torch on the ground. Wiping her face and neck with the tip of her mundu, she stood straight. ‘Who else but me, eh? Open the door!’

  (Orothayum Prethangalum)

  19

  Kallu

  Karthu’s house was brightly lit in the dead of night, illuminating the crowd gathered in the front yard. The eyes jostling to peek through the broken front door were nearly gouged out by the piercing image that stood revealed.