The Summer of '82 - Chapter 3

Our immediate neighbors were a small dilapidated house on the west and a mansion on the east. On the south was a palm tree plantation beyond which were vast rice fields that spread to the horizon lined with coconut trees. Most of our afternoon used to be spent at the canal that ran in the centre of the vast fields. The water was shallow and we would put our paper boats in it and chase it till the point where the canal disappeared under the highway road. This activity usually was limited till the rains, after which the canal would become very rough and would sweep away anybody who came in the way of its ferociousness.

In the nights after listening to the Bhagwad Gita, we would look on the jackfruit tree that hid itself in the dark, which housed so many glowworms blinking in unison as if it was Diwali. The sounds of the crickets and the occasional croak of the frog would be interrupted by a drunk man passing by swearing on his dead ancestors in the darkness.

That particular summer, we had company. In the night, from the dilapidated house, we heard sounds of laughter. Ammamma/ Grandmother told me that the owner of the house had given it on rent to young students who studied in the ITI close by.

The days were moving on in a slow pace. My parents and my siblings left for visiting our relatives, but i stayed behind, courtesy, the stitches on my head. As the clock ticked away in slow motion, I would keep my eyes glued to the gate for Kannan and Suma to arrive. Looking at the gate with longing, I did not remember when i went to sleep. I was awakened with a hat trick of sneezes. Suma had taken a grass blade and tickled my nostrils. Both Kannan and Suma laughed their hearts out. Suma and Kittu went into Kittu’s room and started playing with their dolls, while Kannan and I ventured out into the neighborhood.

‘Where are we off to?’ I asked in expectation. ‘If ammamma sees us sneaking out, we will be in for trouble.’

‘I saw Ammamma leave with a sack of rice to the mill’, he said. ‘It will take her at least an hour or two to come back. We will be back home by then.’ He assured. We went to the boundary that separated our plot from our neighbor’s. The Cacti was tall that acted as a natural fence, but the gap between two of them was big enough to sneak both of us in by crossing it carefully, sideways, taking care that the thorns did not prick our butt or belly.

Once across, we made our way through the dry leaves crackling beneath our feet to the house. The house was hardly cleaned. The ceiling and the beams were filled by cobwebs from days of yonder. The only place that was clean was the wooden ladder that led to the first floor, probably because of constant use. The walls were damp with the thin white coat peeling off randomly at places. The wooden ceiling was sagging, threatening to fall off any moment. The external wall had slogans painted with fresh red color with the symbol of a sickle and a star, D.Y.F.I Zindabad written and a poster with a smiling moustached photograph accompanying it. Kannan climbed the wooden ladder, the stairs creaking with each step. I followed him holding to a rope that hung from the ceiling above, lest the ladder gave way, one could hold the rope for support.

The ladder opened into a balcony. There were books lying on the floor and a circuit board lying on a stool that was placed sideways, nearby. A soldering iron was plugged into a socket hanging from a broken switch box. The rod glowing red, jutting precariously from a platform made of thick engineering books. A man with thick moustache and a hairy body wearing a lungi sat on the parapet with a cigarette dangling between his lips. His eyes shifted to Kannan and then towards me.

‘Kanna, who is this?’ he asked Kannan. ‘He is my friend from Bombay, Shibu’ Kannan then turned to me and introduced the huge man ‘This is Das, the great’ he said. It was apparent from the way he described Das and ran around him, that he had made Das, his hero, his idol. Das was a man of very little words. He allowed me to look at him as he skillfully soldered the chips on to the circuit board. I tried to read the books on electronics and tried to differentiate between an ohm and a lamda. Das would work silently, continuously smoking cigarettes. He would light the next cigarette before the first one was finished and the steel tray that doubled as an ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts.

‘Why do you smoke so much?’ i asked Das.

‘Some people need oxygen to live, I need smoke’ he said as he turned around to pick up a tester.

Later, when we were back at our house before ammamma came back, Kannan was excitedly telling me about Das being one of the student leaders and how people in his college followed every dictum he issued. He was the leader of the S.U.F.I. wing in his college. Kannan animatedly spoke of a hartal when the police lathi charged and he took the baton from the police and hit many policemen. He was arrested, but he became an instant hero in the party and he is now the rising star of the political group. Kannan was sure, being in the good books of Das today, will earn him a handsome position in the party when he is grown 3 more years.

Ammamma entered the gates, with another man in tow. He was an elderly man. Fair and plump, he had bhasma on his forehead. With one hand holding the long umbrella and the other hand holding the mundu, he walked very fast. Ammamma took off her slippers and handed a stainless steel container in my hand. ‘Put it in the kitchen’ she told me. I obediently took it and left for the kitchen. He asked for water. ‘Get the boiled water from the pot’ she shouted. They both began speaking in hushed voices. I peeped through the window grills and i saw my ammamma take out some money from her purse and give it to him. The man was ready to leave.

‘Didnt get the water’ the old man said to my ammamma. I thought he purposely did that to make me feel like an incompetent grandson. His face was arrogant when he said that.

‘Shibu!!’ she shouted loudly ‘Where did you get lost?’ I stumbled out of the door and offered him the glass of water. He looked at me intensely, piercing into my eyes. ‘Is he Parvathi’s son’ he asked ammamma. She nodded in agreement.

‘He has got her beautiful eyes’ he said proud of my inheritance. ‘Do you know me?’ he asked me. I shook my head. ‘How would you?’ he was now nostalgic ‘I had taken you in my arms when you were six months old. I used to carry you and sing lullabies when you would cry.’ I could sense, he now had become melodramatic. After a while, he left. The last thing i heard him tell my ammamma was that being a daughter of the village, it was her duty too, to contribute for the yagna in the temple.

Kannan took me aside and told me not to believe a single word he said. He said, he was Narayana Namboodiripaad, the high priest of the temple and it was his habit of forcing people to donate money for the welfare of the temple. He said with a tense voice, that there were rumors of a lurking spirit in the village around the temple. People had seen shadows on moonlit nights without an owner. Also, very recently, when the temple door was opened for the early morning pooja, the deity had been smeared with a black substance. The Panchayat was called and an astrologer summoned to find out what was going wrong. The astrologer did some calculations holding some sea shells and then told that an ancient priest who had died of a sin is responsible for the unholy happenings in the temple and a yagna has to be performed to drive the ghost away from the village. Kannan felt that Namboodiripaad wanted to make money out of the yagna, and he was swindling the innocent villagers with the power of superstition.

I was intrigued by what Kannan said. A ghost! I was living in a house that was close to a temple haunted by a ghost! I was thrilled. ‘I want to see the ghost!’ i earnestly told Kannan.

‘What?’ Kannan was a bit startled. ‘Are you crazy?’

‘Have you ever seen a ghost?’ I asked him. He shook his head.

‘Neither me...’ I was now excited. ‘What if he is a friendly ghost?’

‘Ghosts are never friendly’ he replied.

‘Says who?’ I was stubborn. I really wanted to see a ghost! I had heard of ghosts in films, in books, but never seen one in reality. It used to be an illusion of a lady walking on the street with a lit candle in her hand, her hair open and spread over the shoulders. But that was how they were shown in films. I wanted to see a real ghost.

‘You are mad’ he said. ‘What if the ghost kills you?’

‘I dont think ghosts can kill’ i was pretty sure. ‘You said the ghost was a shadow without an owner, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Then how can a shadow kill a man. A shadow can only kill a shadow, Isn’t it?’

‘Right.’ he said, giving my logic some intense thought.

‘So when do we go to see the ghost?’ i was now very enthusiastic.

‘No... wait’ Kannan fumbled. ‘OK, I have an idea’ he said ‘We will tell Das. I am sure he will help. He does not believe in God!’

I was game. I felt fear in Kannans voice but as long as i saw the ghost, i had no problem. I just wanted to see the ghost.

‘Shibu! Will you go to the mill and get our sack of rice?’ Ammamma yelled out. Kannan and I left for the rice mill.