Theeyoor Chronicles Read online

  That night was a difficult one for Nambisan. Whenever he glanced at Devayani’s face, he was overcome with a shyness unsuitable for his age. Still, he could not help stealing looks at her glittering eyes, thick, dark hair, and delightful ears adorned with little drops in the shape of birdcages. Devayani, meanwhile, seemed fearful, and Krishnanunni too seemed gripped by nervousness.

  The next day, Nambisan helped them find a small house to rent behind Olympia Talkies, where they began their new life. Krishnanunni stopped going out of Theeyoor to sell his goods, and within three or four months, he stopped his hawking business altogether and opened a stationery shop near Olympia. The shop prospered more rapidly than anyone could have expected.

  The first few years of their life together were pleasant. Devayani became pregnant twice in this period, but she lost both babies before the first trimester. She was unable to conceive after that.

  Krishnanunni was an unattractive man with a pitch-black complexion and a tooth that protruded out of his mouth. He was painfully aware that he and his wife were mismatched in looks. But Devayani gave him no occasion to brood over it, treating him with respect and a certain amount of fear. Even the briefest shadow of displeasure on his face brought tears to her eyes. But things changed, and over time, she lost the softness in her manner. She became less and less fearful of speaking directly to her husband, and making her desires known. She insisted on watching every movie that was screened at Olympia Talkies, and every Sunday, she made her husband take her to Kannur or Payyannur for a day out. Krishnanunni had always felt self-conscious when they went out together and all eyes were drawn to his beautiful wife. The change in her attitude – from mild-mannered deference to a grating stubbornness – sent him sinking into a sense of inferiority. He began to believe that Devayani was secretly pleased with all the attention she attracted.

  One Sunday, on their way to Kannur on the bus, a young man stood swaying into and rubbing against Devayani all the way from Kathirookkamthara to Pappinisseri Gate. The bus was indeed crowded. But Krishnanunni thought she could have made an effort to thwart the young man’s advances by moving away, and the fact that she didn’t made him seethe with resentment. That night, after returning home, they fought over the incident. ‘I can’t believe you’d think such things about me,’ sobbed a heartbroken Devayani. But Krishnanunni was convinced that her tears were dishonest, and that she was putting on an act.

  The next evening, when at 8 p.m. he closed the shop and set out for home, Krishnanunni stopped at the arrack shop on the way, ordered a 100 ml of the local brew and drank it. Devayani created a huge ruckus when he got home, but he was unfazed. He stopped off at the arrack shop the next day and the day after that, and soon he returned home every evening enveloped in the smell of arrack.

  It did not take long for this solitary habit to become an expensive, social habit that extended from the arrack shop into the family home, and Krishnanunni began bringing home people he had befriended in the arrack shop. Soon he found his courage and began ordering Devayani, who silently protested these incursions with a furious and rigid face, to make accompaniments for the drinks – omelettes or small fish roasted on coals. One night, Krishnanunni brought home Dubai Rajan, a young man from Chenkara who was known for his wanderlust. He was from a wealthy home, but he found his family and his land constricting and was always looking to leave. He ran away from home for the first time during the summer vacation after class eight, and got as far as Virajpetta before he was spotted by one of his countrymen who brought him straight back. He was severely beaten at home, but within six months he had run away again. This time he went to Mangalapuram, and came back home voluntarily after two days. After that, leaving home to wander around someplace else for four or five days became a habit. Somehow he found the money to fund his habit, most often by stealing from his own family. After completing his pre-degree course, his wanderlust became a career.

  Having eventually wandered through most of India’s big and small cities, Rajan went off to Dubai, this time with his family’s blessings. But he did not remain there long. Within three months, he was back, his fair-skinned, well-proportioned body glowing more than usual. He had given up on long journeys and had decided to spend most of his time at home, a decision that eventually created some difficulties for his family. Rajan had never lacked in self-confidence, and after his sojourn in Dubai, he began to consider himself to be inordinately handsome as well as wealthy. And with that self-belief, he began searching for a bride from the well-to-do families in Aamachal and Kuniyankunnu. He told everyone that he was working in Dubai and was on leave, a situation that gave him the nickname Dubai Rajan and caused embarrassment to his family. His mother and eldest sister, who had always waited anxiously for his return from his travels, now began to wish secretly that he would leave town for real.

  Around this time, as luck would have it, Dubai Rajan won 50,000 rupees in the lottery. Everyone – his family, friends and community members alike – expected him to squander away the money in a matter of days, but he surprised them all. The windfall changed him. It seemed to usher in a new, serious attitude. He stopped his habit of whiling away his time in the bars in Kannur and Payyannur in the company of his friends. Instead, every evening, he went to the arrack shop in Theeyoor Kunnumpuram, enjoyed a 100 ml of their finest, alone, and went back home peacefully.

  Rajan had long been attracted to Devayani and her beauty. Her vivacious body was a constant presence in his dreams and fantasies. He had admired, although from afar, her deportment, her eyes and ears, the strands of hair curling deliciously over her forehead, and her sinuous slide. When he became a regular at the arrack shop in Kunnumpuram, his primary aim was to get close to Krishnanunni. It was not a difficult task to accomplish, but Krishnanunni was always in the company of one or the other of the customers. So one evening, when he found him alone unexpectedly, Rajan utilized the opportunity. He bought round after round until Krishnanunni was senselessly drunk, and as they left the shop, Rajan accompanied Krishnanunni under the pretext of seeing him safely home.

  Krishnanunni staggered home holding on to Rajan’s shoulder. Even then, he lost his footing a couple of times, and as they climbed on to the veranda of his home, Krishnanunni began to vomit. Devayani opened the front door and stood aside. The sight had caught her off guard, but when Rajan said, ‘Bring some water, sister,’ the pretty smile on his face and the friendliness in his voice sparked a sweet sensation inside her.

  Devayani fetched a bucket of water. Rajan removed Krishnanunni’s vomit-drenched clothes, and together they cleaned him up, took him inside and put him to bed. In the process, their fingers touched several times, and each time Devayani bit her lip and glanced shyly downwards.

  As soon as his head touched the pillow, Krishnanunni began to snore. Rajan said, ‘I’ll take my leave now,’ and stepped outside, but he turned, hesitantly, came back inside, and gently placed his hand on Devayani’s shoulder as she stood there watching him with her wide eyes. In the next moment, Rajan had gathered her in his arms and covered her with kisses.

  From that night, Dubai Rajan became a regular visitor at Krishnanunni’s home. Within a few months, Devayani prospered, and her mind, which had fallen into a gloom following the deterioration of her relationship with her husband, stirred with fresh hope. She had new gold jewellery and as many saris and chappals as she could possibly want, and although Rajan was not willing to be seen in public with her, she felt that his affection for her and the authority that he demonstrated over her were that of a husband. And she was determined to do everything she could to keep him interested.

  Meanwhile, Krishnanunni was devastated by the changes at home. He still opened his shop at 9 a.m. and sat there until 9 p.m., but his interest in the business was waning even as he spent more and more hours at the arrack shop. He simply did not have the courage to confront Devayani or Rajan, and they treated him as though he was of no consequence.

  One afternoon, Krishnanunni went home a little earlier
than usual for lunch. The front door was shut, and no one answered his knocks. When the door finally opened, it was Rajan who stepped outside, and as he watched him walk away silently, Krishnanunni felt his body sagging in a deep exhaustion. He was, of course, aware of what was happening in his own home, with his own wife, but the fact that he had to witness it in the middle of the day when he was fully sober was more than he could endure. And when Devayani asked him why he had to come home so early, the scornful tone of her voice defeated him completely.

  Krishnanunni stepped off the veranda of his home and walked away without eating his lunch or saying goodbye. He would not return to Theeyoor ever again.

  Krishnanunni’s departure unsettled Dubai Rajan. As far as he was concerned, his relationship with Devayani was just an affair, and as long as she was married, she was someone else’s responsibility. But now, with Krishnanunni gone, he did not have the heart to leave her completely alone. He was already worried about his financial state as he had, by then, spent almost all of the lottery money. He continued his relationship with Devayani for another couple of months. Then he escaped. Telling Devayani that he had an urgent business to attend to in Madras, he left for Madikeri, where he had arranged to stay at his uncle’s house for a few months until he could extricate himself from the noose he had put around his own neck.

  Devayani waited for a week, and then went to Rajan’s house determined to face whatever came her way. His father, Kumaran Nambiar, was in the front yard, chatting with some of his workers. As soon as he set eyes on Devayani, he was gripped by a burning rage.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ he growled at her like a leopard. ‘What the hell do you want?’

  Devayani was unfazed. ‘Is Rajan here?’ she asked in a confident voice.

  Nambiar did not respond to her question. Instead, he shouted, ‘Drag this bitch out of here.’

  No one came forward to obey his command. Devayani stood where she was for a while. Then, hawking up a glob of phlegm, she spat loudly on the ground and walked away.

  Dubai Rajan returned from Madikeri two months later. By then, he had been replaced, and Devayani had at least two other Theeyoorians as her regular visitors. Before long, she became a prostitute of some renown across Theeyoor and neighbouring villages.

  It was 1 p.m. by the time I got to Olympia Talkies. I was famished, and so I went into the first restaurant I came across. The restaurant, its walls adorned with photographs of Muthappan, the local deity, and Karl Marx, was quiet, with only a handful of customers.

  After lunch, I met with Ravi, a parallel college teacher I had met in Theeyoorangadi the day before. The college he worked at – Nalanda – was nearby. Ravi took me to Devayani’s house.

  The house was small, but it sat on a fair-sized plot of land with a low boundary wall made of clay. It looked truly abandoned, its surroundings overgrown with weeds and grass. There was nothing else to see there.

  As we walked back, I asked Ravi, ‘Do you know if anything specific had happened that might have prompted Devayani’s suicide?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ Ravi said. ‘She’d started behaving strangely a while before she died. What can one say about a woman who got publicly drunk in an arrack shop and then called out obscenities at people?’

  ‘How come the owner of her house didn’t evict her?’

  ‘If it was someone else, she would surely have been evicted. But Karunan Maestri wouldn’t do that. He’s a good sort.’

  I had heard about Karunan Maestri from some others. I felt, for no clear reason, that I should delay speaking with him until the next day.

  ‘Did you ever imagine Devayani’s life would end like this?’ I asked Ravi.

  ‘To be honest, she wasn’t someone I thought about very much,’ Ravi said, smiling. ‘Amu Jinn told me, almost three years ago, that this woman would come to a bad end. In his heyday, I really was a believer in his abilities. Well, more of a friend than a believer…’

  ‘Amu Jinn? Who’s that?’

  ‘He’s a local man. Lives right here at the bottom of the hill. Why? Would you like to meet him?’

  ‘If I could … Yes.’

  ‘When would you like to go?’

  ‘Today, if possible … But whenever is convenient for you…’

  ‘Right, then, we’ll go today. But I have classes until about four-thirty in the evening, and a staff meeting after that.’

  ‘That’s perfectly fine,’ I assured Ravi. ‘I’ll hang around until you are free.’

  SNAKES AND LADDERS

  1.

  There were still four or five people I wanted to talk to in Theeyoor. And I still had to verify the anecdotal information I had collected about the suicides, facts separated from hearsay. So I did not want to waste the time I had until meeting up with Ravi in the evening. My work would be better accomplished if I had someone local to assist me, but the two people I had hoped to rely on when I came to Theeyoor – Sadanandan maash, and a young man named Sujayan who occasionally sent news articles from Theeyoor to Janavartha, the newspaper I worked with – were both out of station. Sadanandan maash had gone to attend a relative’s wedding in Payyannur, and Sujayan had been away since the day I arrived in Theeyoor as his father was in the hospital with chest pains.

  I had been unsuccessful in finding another reliable informant. There were many young men in Theeyoor with no discernible employment or occupation, but they all seemed quite busy, although it was not easy to figure out what occupied their time and interest. This was something that had me stymied: When did free time become such a scarcity in people’s lives? Or was I extrapolating my situation on to everyone else? There was also something else I didn’t quite understand. Setting aside the market and beach areas, there were four or five families in Theeyoor with members working and earning good money in Gulf countries, some teachers and other government employees, a hundred-odd people working in the three cooperative organizations, and a few merchants. Others were local labourers with no fixed income or handicraft workers with very little income. But despite the fact that most of the population belonged to the last two groups, there were not many obvious signs of poverty in this village. If anything, public life here seemed to be imbued with a level of comfort, at least from the viewpoint of an outsider.

  Theeyoorangadi – the old market area – was only about a kilometre long, but the trade that went on there was not inconsiderable. There were cassette shops, a video library, a clean and charming cool-bar, and several shops that sold fancy items, clothing and beauty products. One could not help but wonder who would buy all the apples, mosambis and oranges piled high in front of the fruit stalls. These were mysteries with no obvious answers, and my inquiries, focusing on the suicides, could only take me to certain limited material truths. I might have been aware of this at some level, and perhaps that was why, right from the start, I had allowed myself to be led down unusual and unexpected paths. Still, the soul of this village eluded me. Perhaps it did not have the kind of singular, definable soul that I was hoping to find. Or perhaps the space that one would think of as the soul was left empty in the body of Theeyoor, or it had a soul that was changeable, constantly in flux. Perhaps all it had in lieu of a soul was a heart that beat mechanically, set things in motion. Sreedharan maash was the best person to engage in such discussions, but even these discussions meandered into meaninglessness after a point.

  Ravi, my current local companion, was not a suitable person to speak to about these things. He was of a new generation, one that had a general curiosity by nature but not the genuine interest to look into anything in depth. I considered his generation capable of accepting and discarding ideas and concepts with equal ease, and did not count him as a person with whom I could share my own ideas. I regretted my promise to wait for him. I could have used the time better and gone somewhere else. It was the name Amu Jinn that piqued my curiosity and made me wait for Ravi’s convenience.

  Amu Jinn … The name was not on the list I had prepared of the people I wanted to
talk to in Theeyoor, and it had not come up in my other conversations – not even Sadanandan maash had mentioned him. But from what Ravi told me, I had to meet with him even though it meant wasting time waiting for Ravi.

  Thankfully, Ravi arrived earlier than expected, and he was in a hurry. ‘Come, let’s go,’ he said. ‘I’ve handed over my class to someone else. I have to get back quickly – as soon as I show you Amu Jinn’s house.’

  The house was on the first turn-off as the road leading south from Theeyoor Kunnumpuram inclined steeply downwards.

  ‘Amu Jinn is a jinn only by name now,’ Ravi said as we walked downhill. ‘He has lost his old powers. He’s in a bit of a state these days…’

  ‘What sort of powers did he have?’ I asked Ravi.

  ‘He was a seer, and could predict the future accurately. And he was a healer.’

  ‘You don’t think those are just things people believe?’

  ‘Sure. But no one believes without reason, do they?’

  ‘Perhaps they might have some misconceptions…’

  ‘Or personal experiences that made them believers,’ Ravi countered.

  ‘Did you have any such personal experiences?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well … I went to see him after writing my MA second-year exams,’ Ravi said. ‘One of my classmates was with me. When he saw us, Amu Jinn looked at me and raised the index finger of his right hand. Then he looked at my friend and lowered the same finger. And when the results came, I’d passed with a first class and he’d failed!’

  ‘How did you guess that’s what Amu Jinn meant?’

  ‘I’d heard that’s how he communicated.’

  ‘You mean he doesn’t speak?’