Famished Mendicant (பஞ்சத்து ஆண்டி) by Thi. Janaki Raman

Translated into English by Saravanan Karmegam

***

A sound of someone yelling was heard – it must either be from the neighbouring house or the one opposite.

“Get up, I say. How dare you sleep here! Pick your stuff – this bundle, clump, pot and bowl- and get lost from here. This veranda has turned into a resting place for everyone. Hasn’t it? Won’t you get up now? Today is a Saturday in Puratasi month…”

The yelling was so intense that Nannaiyan was very sure that it was directed at him. He rubbed his eyes. The house owner, the woman, was making the cow dung water in a container on the veranda. He gathered up his stuff swiftly and got off the veranda, carrying the big pot and his elder child on his shoulder. Within minutes, his wife picked up her infant and the other two bundles and walked on. Their middle child woke up amidst the din, got up quickly, seeing its parents moving jittery, and walked behind them. Nannaiyan kept his luggage on the adjacent house veranda, tightened his dhoti, strode again a little and reached the Ganesh Temple porch after six or seven houses in the opposite row.

It might be true that the house owner woke him up as if he was sleeping till the sun scorched his back, but the time wasn’t too late for one to wake up that early. It was still dark, but with a little visibility. The splashing noise of cow dung water sprinkled on the front yards of the houses was slowly casting out the darkness.

As soon as the children were laid on the temple porch, they fell asleep again. Nannaiyan’s eyes were stinging. His wife was also suffering from burning eyes, unable to open her eyes. They didn’t eat that night. The ‘Pazhaiya Soru’ they received as alms last night was not even sufficient for their children. They had been on a time meal for four days. That too, to fill their tummies half. Undying hunger was burning like fire in their belly. They would puke if they continued to starve even for one more time. The head remained heavy and started aching due to a lack of food. As he glanced through the street, rubbing his eyes, the yells of the woman came over his mind.

It was a Saturday in the month, Puratasi. All the beggars around the world had gathered over there. A big crowd of beggars was marching. How many beggars? Forty or fifty? So many beggars even before dawn! When did they wake up? Where did they sleep last night? Where did they come from? Did they brush their teeth? Everyone looked uniformly moulded – faded saffron-clad, a rudraksha bead hanging on the neck, a begging bowl in their hands, half of them with tonsured heads. Half of them had dry, ruffled hair; some were very old, blind, and had limping legs. It appeared to Nannaiyan that the effects of previous births were moving on in a procession.

Sitting on the veranda, he asked:

“Sami, where are you going?”

“They offer it at Sivaguru Chettiar’s house.”

“What are they offering?”

“They give a coin and a handful of rice to every beggar. We go there.”

“A coin?”

“Yes”

“Who’ll get a coin these days? A big charity indeed. Isn’t it?”

“Anyone can find fault in anything. Right?” The beggar strode fast along with the crowd.

Nannaiyan made a conventional calculation: He, his wife, three children- he could get five handfuls of rice and five coins, provided that the head count included his infant.

“Five handfuls of rice- will it be enough to stick to the walls of a stomach?” he asked himself.

“Everyone is going there. Why don’t you try your hand?” his wife offered her suggestion.

“What do you mean by trying my hand? Aren’t you coming?”

“I can’t afford to walk. I can’t carry all these bags and bundles. These three are erratically sleeping on an empty stomach filled with just air. How can they walk?”

He rose, alone, and sat. In minutes, the beggars were seen sitting in a queue in front of Sivaguru Chettiar’s house. Seeing the neatness of the queue, one could understand it had been a regular affair for a very long time. Not only during the Puratasi month, but it was said that Sivaguru was doing that charity on all Saturdays. When Nannaiyan thought that he could sit as the last man after forty or fifty beggars, he felt his legs and mind became completely exhausted as though having walked seven or eight miles.

Should I share the seat with these men? After all, he had been reduced to being a beggar, a famished beggar. Should he sit along with those ‘beggars-by-birth’ who had never even smelt of what was known as wealth? He would lose nothing if he sat with them. Would he? Unknown place! The Chettiar hadn’t yet come to the front yard of the house. It would take an hour, as he was busy with a puja, they said. It was not even fully dawned. Where else can he go? Nannaiyan sat down a foot away from them, with a detachment of not being one of them, as his mind and body were shying away with embarrassment. Most of the beggars were still sleeping. The beggar sitting near him had cropped hair. A ruffled, unkempt hair, like the spines of a brush that used to be shoved into the bottle to clean its interiors. A rudraksha bead hanging on his neck. He looked like a fatty goose.

“Sami, where are you from?” he asked. Nannaiyan felt it was an insult to his stature to speak to him. He didn’t reply.

“I am asking you. Which place are you from?”

“Why should you know it?”

“Shouldn’t I ask it?”

“Salem”

“Salem? O god! It is very far. Isn’t it?”

“Yes”

“You sitting here… from that distant place?”

Sitting in the queue, he couldn’t escape his questions.

“Yes, what else can I do? I have lost my livelihood. So started begging.”

“It means you had some other job. Right?”

“I had. Not now”

“Farming?”

“Weaving”

“Weaving? You mean weaving dhotis and saris. Right?”

“We weave towels and hankies, too. But we didn’t have yarns. How long could we manage selling all that we had? The jewels will remain jewels as long as they are worn on the hands and nose. The moment they are sold and turned into cash, they can feed us for only two days. So, it is all gone. If one keeps doing like this, what will then be left to sell?”

“Why wasn’t yarn available?”

“It wasn’t just available. That is it.”

“Didn’t you have any other means of livelihood?”

“We can have one if only we know it. All we know is only weaving dhoti and sari. We are drained out of blood sitting in the loom all through the day. How can we carry a shovel and an axe? How can we work that demands physical labour?”

“Pitiable”

A single-eyed beggar sitting near retorted, hearing his words, “So, you have come here as you thought begging doesn’t require physical strength. Haven’t you? It is not an easy job either. Look at us. Today in one town, another town in the evening, and another town at the night. We would have gone very far in the morning. You can get at least something only when you run place to place like this.”

His words, spoken with the professional warmth of a beggar-by-birth, evinced an amount of indifference and concern for an inexperienced beggar.

“If we stay in Thanjavur today, it is Kumbakonam tomorrow, Thiruvidaimaruthur tomorrow night, Mayavaram day after tomorrow, then Sirgazhi and Kanagasabai. This is how we wander every place every day. But you say you have come to beg because your body is frail. I can’t comment on it. Can I?”

“Are we born just to die with this endless walk?”

“You get food only when you walk. If you keep roaming in one place, people will get bored with seeing your face. Only the lazy beggars will sit in one place. Mendicants and the devotees of lord Shiva believe in wandering.”

Those words signaled, though not obviously about it, that Nannaiyan was no longer fit to beg. Nannaiyan grew restless. “Am I going to be a permanent beggar or what? It is my bad, testing time. Hmmm. Useless blokes,” he lamented, and got up.

“Why do you leave, Anna?”

“Wait, let me be back after brushing my teeth,” he got up, turned at the corner of the street, walked along the banks of the river and slowly waded into the canal that ran across. He rubbed a piece of brick on the rough surface of the sluice gate, brushed his teeth with that powder and washed his face. He scooped up a handful of water and drank it. As it went down his throat, it filled his empty chest pit, and caused a sharp, lethal pain as if it was arresting his breath. It was a sheer shock of pouring water into an empty stomach when he was ravenous. He gulped it down slowly and sat for a while on the edge of the canal. He rose again, drank water until he was full and turned to the street.

It was Saturday. The competition would be sharp. One should win in the competition to at least fill something in the stomach. There was only one way to do it. One should tell the truth without corrupting it. It must be told convincingly that begging was not my regular ‘profession’. ‘It is how one could ignite compassion in others'.

It became sunny. Sivaguru Chettiar was still in puja. Nannaiyan went past ten or fifteen households. There too, he saw a sharp competition waiting for him. A monkey entertainer, holding a stick across two feet above the ground, was coaxing a monkey to jump over it. The monkey, obviously not concerned whether it was a stick or an ocean, jumped over it. The boys were standing around to watch the show. Laughter mixed with din. A grand competition it was! Nannaiyan walked on and stopped after two houses.

It was a big house. There was a canopy covering the front yard. An old man was sitting on an easy chair that faced the west.

“Amma,” Nannaiyan called out.

“You are calling Amma because you think that Aiya wouldn’t give you anything. Aren’t you? I am destined to see your face even before I could open my eyes. Did you wait for the dawn to offer me your face to see? It seems that you have come here so that Aiya would wake up to see the luck of the day. I don’t understand why you are standing dumb. Reply to my questions. You have come here even before dawn. I just want to know why. I have just got up from the bed, washed my face and took a second to recline. But what I see is your face. Are you an auspicious lamp? Or a mirror? Or my wife? Tell me”

The old man spoke without pausing for a breath. Though he insisted on receiving a reply, he was speaking nonstop, hardly giving a pause to receive it. Had he broken off a second that would suffice to slice an areca nut, Nannaiyan could have attempted a reply. But the old man didn’t stop.

“Hey, even before the rooster coos, you are standing here with this beard, moustache, shabby look, and a dented jug. Do you think people will give you alms, seeing all these? Tell me. Why are you standing dump?”

Nannaiyan thought of telling him that he would leave if the old man kept his mouth shut without being garrulous. But the old man was still unrelenting. After briefly admonishing him for not being a mirror, lamp, and his wife again, he said, “Only you have work in the early morning. We don’t have any work in the house. Right? We have to leave all the morning chores – brushing the teeth and washing the face- and run to you instead, to welcome you. Right?”

‘O! heavens! He is tired a little now.’

“It is not like what you think…” Nannaiyan was about to say. But, fearing that the old man would start again where he had left, he jumped to the main topic.

“Sir, my profession is weaving. I hail from Salem. We had a decent living with the income from the weaving. But we couldn’t get the yarn for the last seven months. We lost our livelihood. We could manage our meals by selling whatever we had. We have come here with the hope of finding a job. But the situation remains the same here, too. They gave us a food token in the temple meant for the pilgrims for three days. It was stopped after three days. On the fourth day, we hardly got enough food to fill a tooth. Three young children are starving. My wife and I have been hungry since yesterday.” Nannaiyan poured out his heart without pausing for a breath.

“What do you expect me to do now? Should I buy you a loom and yarn?”

“How can I ask you such a thing? I am unable to see my children going hungry. You can give me something for our stomach.”

“Listen, I suspect something amiss now. I don’t know whether Salem town still exists or has become extinct without anything worth calling living beings. I have been watching for the last six months. Around one lakh men have come here displaying their distended stomachs with similar excuses of no yarns and jobs. Do you have anything to comment on it?”

“What else would I say about it, Aiya?”

“What else means? Let me tell you. Listen to me. Even for begging, you need a capital. Look there. Hanuman is playing. The monkey entertainer’s capital is Hanuman.”

Nannaiyan turned and looked at him. A Kurankatti – a monkey entertainer- was standing there, listening to them talking about him.

The old man said:

“That monkey, the Hanuman, is his investment. Wait for some time and see, he would leave with an aluminum bowl full of rice. Who’s smart? He or you? We need a capital for anything in this world. Capital. The snake charmer and the Kurankatti have to dance, clapping their castanet. Or else they can sell coriander or curry leaves. If not, they can make a living carrying loaded bags. You don’t even have the capital to do that. You are standing like dried pieces of a lemon fruit thrown into the scorching sun in the Purattasi month. Aren’t you?”

Silence followed for a moment.

His throat choked at the remark that he had become inferior even to the monkey entertainer. Salem, loom house, the house where he lived, the cow, the hank of yarn soaked in dye hanging in the yard – all came through once on his mind. ‘Born somewhere, lived somewhere afar, and now getting scolded by an unknown man! Why? For what? His eyes welled up with tears. He held his breath, without biting his lips to avoid the tears from spilling out, opened his mouth and trapped the tears in his eyes from flowing down the cheeks.

“What do you say?” The old man repeated his usual question.

“How to reply to this question? His whole body shivered, and he stood without uttering any word.

“You moron, keep standing without a word.” The old man got up and went in.

The Kurankatti asked him, “You weave for a living. Right?”

Nannaiyan nodded his head.

“The time has become notoriously bad. I have never come across such a ruthless famine and difficulties in my life. This wretched famine has thrown out the people from their very livelihood. The world without morality!” The Kurankatti said, feeling pity, while staring at him, obviously absorbing the predicaments of the ruined person. ‘It is our destiny that we were born like this. But you don’t deserve this. Do you’ – his eyes expressed what his mind was thinking. Nannaiyan, who was already shaking from inside, shed tears as he looked into the Kurankatti’s eyes.

In a while, the old man’s wife brough ten hot idlis and some pazhaiya soru sufficient enough for two stomachs, and placed them before them. The Kurankatti and his monkey got two idlis each.

“Look here, man! You'd better not be under the illusion that you will get these daily. If you show up here tomorrow again, you will see my angry face. Get out! Find your means of livelihood.” The old man yelled out, standing at the doorway and went in without waiting to acknowledge Nannaiyan’s obeisance.

Nannaiyan walked towards the temple porch.

“Have it”

His wife was enormously happy seeing it as if she had fallen into the granary of rice.

“How come these many? Did you buy it from the hotel?”

“Can we ever buy it from the hotel in our condition? I got it by begging. Keep it there.”

The elder child grabbed the idlis. The middle child screamed, “Appa, there is a monkey.” The Kurankatti was standing by the veranda.

“What are you after?” Nannaiyan asked.

“Aiya, you are so naïve. Would that small amount of rice and idlis be enough for you? You could have visited a couple of houses more to get some more rice for the night. Now you have to walk again.”

“You have the luxury of speaking like this. But we have been starving since last afternoon. Now we can have it first and think about other things later.”

The Kurankatti was silent for a while and then said:

“Do you know anyone in this town?”

“It is a new place. Why are you asking?”

“Nothing important. I just want to tell you something.”

“What’s that?”

“You shouldn’t be angry if I say that.”

“Tell me what it is. Anger doesn’t matter.”

“Okay. Meet me after meals. I have a person here. He is so generous to people like you. I’ll take you to him.”

“Who’s that? Any trader?”

“We can discuss it later. Have your food first.”

After having food, Nannaiyan got off the porch, and walked along with the Kurankatti. They went past the market street square and walked on the path along the Railway station. In a brief walk of some minutes, they reached the village boundary. Beyond it was a pond. Beyond it, was found a slum of scavengers along the road. There were about thirty huts. Open area everywhere with green fields. Rows of coconut trees on both sides of the railway station road. Nannaiyan stood astounded at seeing the greenery as if he had seen something he had never seen in life.

They stood in front of the slum. “Here lives the person I told you about. Eii…Kali…Kali…” the Kurankatti called out aloud.

“Why are you yelling?” a voice came somewhere from the huts.

“Bring here Vaithyalingam along with you.”

Nannaiyan stood confused, unable to decipher anything.

A young woman with a lead bangle in her hands, a lead ring, lead earrings, and lead nose rings came running. Along with her came a monkey that had recently grown into an adult from being a kid.

“Look here. He is Vaithyalingam. Eii…Vaithyalingam, come here.” Kurankatti called out to the monkey.

The monkey jumped, nuzzled, and looked upward, pulling his clothes. It pounced upon his monkey and pushed it away.

“Aiya, you have assured me you wouldn’t get angry. Can I take it true?”

“This is Vaithyalingam I have told you about.”

“Who? Are you kidding?”

“You are getting angry now; you have failed your words now. Haven’t you? I and my wife are raising him as precious as our lives. I can give him away to you.”

“To me? For what?”

“Well, you don’t know begging. The weavers don’t know begging. Do they? It must come from birth. It is an inherited trait. No one can learn it easily. It is like carpentry or metal works. You don’t have the money even to find a livelihood by carrying the bags, as Vanniyar aiya said. What are you going to do? That too, in this despicable village. The Chettiar will give a coin and some rice only on Saturdays. He won’t allow even the smell of beggars on weekdays. Vanniyar may be a man of charity. But can we go to his house every day to beg? Only these men give alms. Others are wicked souls. Before we go near them, they will make you feel the squeeze. They will throw water on you. It is such a village of enviable charity! If you can give something, you may get something back. This is why I am telling you all these”. He further added, “No one in this village knows about you. Make Vaithyalingam dance, and you will never face the problem of food. There is no one here to believe your words that you are a weaver.”

Nannaiyan threw out a gentle smile.

“So, finally, you have decided to make me a Kurankatti. Haven’t you? When you are drowned fully, the level of water over your head doesn’t make any difference. Right?”

“Nothing has gone over your head. Once this famine is gone, you can return to your tiled house. This problem won’t last long. I hold my words only till then. Being a Kurankatti is no way inferior either. It is as valuable as doing business in gold, as Aiya said. A good capital. Can I ever give this monkey to someone unknown? I saw your children and wife. It was unbearable.”

“Kali, do you know who they are. They are from Salem. They had a decent life from weaving on the loom. They couldn’t get the yarn and thus had to beg. His wife looks like the goddess Laxmi. Even that goddess is crying out in deep anguish now. Three very young children are literally enervating. Let them keep Vaithyalingam. It is distressing to see them like that.”

“What? Do you mean Vaithiyalingam?”

“Don’t be shocked. We have three. We can give him one. We have no people to make them do acrobatics. Look at their face and be generous. All your sins will be absolved in no time. You will soon get a king-like boy child.”

“They have not even asked you to spare the monkey. It is you who’s insisting on dumping it on their head.”

“They will accept it happily.”

“Sami, is that okay for you?”

“Tell her that you can,” Kurankatti badgered him.

“Okay…I’ll take him.”

“He has accepted this offer in front of you. Right?”

She smiled, displaying her pearl-like teeth. Her husband’s benevolent heart might have touched her. She said, “You force me to nod my head, to accept it.” And then said, “Wait Sami, I give you this monkey as my husband wants me to do it. Take him with you. Vaithiyalingam will never let you go hungry.”

She was dark, healthy and was standing with a brimming beauty like an idol in the temple.

“Thank God, Kaliyatha has shown her mercy. Nothing to worry anymore,” Kurankatti grinned.

There were fields all around. As much as one’s eyes could see, the crops in the vast stretch of green fields were waving in the wind. Chilly wind was blowing. Sponge-like clouds all over the sky. Nannaiyan saw her fake anger and smile, and grew confident.

“Hold this stick in your hand. Done? Now just give him a command – Jump over the pole- Just say it.”

“Jump over the pole.”

Vaithiyalingam jumped over the pole.

He then gave the stick to the monkey and said, “Now say, herd the goats, Vaithyalingam” Kurankatti trained Nannaiyan.

“Herd the goats, Vaithyalingam.”

The monkey, holding the stick on the back of its neck, walked a couple of steps and then waited for the next command. Then followed the school-going sessions, the prisoner standing politely with his hands folded across, whispering secrets in wife’s ears, and the skills of climbing the temple tower – the Kurankatti taught them all. With all these lessons, he had transformed Nannaiyan into a kurankatti.

She laughed and said “Fortunately, this is a trained monkey. If it is a new monkey, its obedience won’t be this smooth.” as if trying to justify why she had laughed. Then she said, “Take him with you”.

She kissed the monkey on its head before giving it away to Nanniayan. The monkey resisted, refused to go with him. Kali went into the slum, brought a handful of peanuts, gave it to Nannaiyan, and said, “Keep it in your hands, and drop one by one as you walk on, it will follow you.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Nannaiyan asked Kuranaktti.

“I’ll follow you. You go first,” Kurankatti replied.

“What is this? Why have you brought this monkey?” Nannaiyan’s wife asked him.

“For our livelihood. Kurankatti gave me.”

“Adding one more as though three are not enough for this famine?”

“Those children will only eat up. But this one will eat and earn. Collect our bags, we can tether it at the opposite house.”

They changed their house. He tethered the monkey to the window grill in the veranda of the house. The toddler smiled and clapped its hands, and tapped on the monkey’s head.

“It seems to be a good monkey. It behaves like a trained monkey,” his wife said.

The second child shrieked. Fearing her abuses, Nannaiyan tried to explain the arguments of Kurankatti as his own.

“It is good. The children will have him to play.”- Her words assuaged his fears, contrary to what he had expected.

The first child, visibly frightened, was standing at a distance.

“See here. It is Hanuman.” Nannaiyan narrated the Hanuman stories and tried to lighten their fears. He asked him to stroke the monkey. Meanwhile, while playing with it, he also tried his training - ‘jump over the pole, herd the goats'- with the monkey so that he could rehearse it before employing it.

Lastly, Vaithyalingam untied the bag, for it was also very hungry.

“For how long can we play with it? What about the dinner?”

They didn’t know the time that went by. Seeing their children playing with the ‘new child’, the family had been joyful for a long.

Nannaiyan collected the aluminium bowl, went down the street.

“Are you not taking this monkey with you?”

“Isn’t it too early?”

He was not ready to stoop to the level of a ‘beggar-by-birth’ that soon. Even a monkey wouldn’t treat him as a kurankatti seeing him wearing a loosely hanging dhoti worn around his calf, and a ‘mal’ upper garment. He stood confused for a minute and then decided to go alone.

He walked around the streets, begged at some houses, singing the ‘original’ songs about his misery. The ears, which were not aware of the happenings around, never tried to know it, and were never worried about anything, were now listening to his story about the paucity of yarn.

Only when he was exhausted after roaming a couple of streets did he understand what Kurankatti had said was right. His small aluminium bowl was not even half-filled with rice. When he came back to the veranda, the sun was above his head. He could earn some coins in quarter of an ana and half an ana. He bought some roasted peas and bananas.

The sun was scorching. The heat in the Purattasi month was piercing. The children ate the peas and the banana and began to sleep. The monkey also ate them. Unable to bear the heat of the sun, it fell asleep on one side. His wife also slept.

Nannaiyan gazed at the sleeping monkey and smiled. It was sleeping like a human. It was sleeping, covering its eyes with a hand, unable to see the white clouds brightened up by the sunlight. How old was it? Six months or one year? At this young age, it had become strong enough to protect a thirty-five-year-old man and a thirty-year-old woman and three children. ‘Does it know that such a responsibility has fallen onto its head? How funny is the destiny that a monkey from a slum area lying a hundred and fifty miles away has been assigned the task of protecting the family of a man who was born and brought up somewhere?’ Nannaiyan was perplexed at the turn of events. As his stomach was full, he had the zeal and energy to relish the present, without grieving his miseries. Does the monkey know about his life he led during the war? He would earn not less than three rupees a day. She was also earning eight anas and ten anas by spinning the yarn. After getting up from the bed, he would have two idlies, a crispy dosai and a coffee in the Krishna lodge and bring some food stuff for his children and wife. Never been thrifty in spending money. They would never miss watching the cinema. Dhotis, sarees and shirts were stacked up more than what they required. He would have easily saved ten rupees a month. If he had done it….

At last, he also fell asleep.

He woke up after two hours – he didn’t wake up- rather, his children woke him up, violently shaking his body.

“Appa, get up. The monkey has run away. Appa, the monkey, has managed to break away.”

He woke up with a jerk.

“The monkey is gone. See there.” She yelled out.

“Where?”

The monkey was sitting on the cone of the opposite house.

“Pa….Pa….” he tried calling out.

“How did it break away?”

“I was holding the rope untethered, just to entertain these kids. It released itself with a jolt.”

“What smart woman are you!”

Both of them were trying to coax the monkey. Chickpeas and bananas had already gone into their stomachs. The monkey hesitated to come down, seeing their empty hands.

Shortly, the boys and girls passing the street gathered there. The place turned noisy, “hooooo…hooooo.”

“Eii…Naughty”

“trooooooooov”

A boy threw a stone at it. Vaithiyalingam swiftly jumped other side and climbed on an electric pole nearby and caught the electric wires at the top.

“Don’t go there…Don’t go there” someone from the crowd shrieked. That was it. Its body crooked awkwardly. The crowd yelled hysterically. The monkey fell from that height onto the ground as if being stricken by a demon. Its body jiggled twice in pain and then settled with its eyes closed.

The neighbours assembled there. The entire street had assembled there. In half an hour, the whole village had gathered over there. The rib area that was exposed to the electric shock was burnt black. Nannaiyan and his wife were crying without even knowing why. The children, seeing them crying, started weeping.

“Is it your monkey?” an old man asked.

“Yes”

“How did it die?”

Nannaiyan narrated the whole story.

“You fool! It is an incarnation of Hanuman da.” You let him die. Can’t you save this simple thing? You sinner! – he threw two strong punches on Nannaiyan’s back. He seemed to be one of the elders of the village. No one stopped him. The whole village was witnessing this episode.

Kali and her husband came running there. Kali cried inconsolably, repeatedly stroking the monkey.

“Sami, you have proved what would happen if a flower garland is given to a monkey,” – she cried remorsefully, looking at Nannaiyan.

The bustle grew thicker. The people on the street were running briskly here and there.

In an hour, a small, well-decked ‘sapparam’ was ready with a tiny bunch of bananas, a smartly cut coconut leaf, and two candles. Sapparam looked very elegant. They made Vaithiyalingam sit, dangling its legs and hands in a praying posture, and decked him well. They bathed him before setting him. Vermillion on forehead, Thiruchurnam, Kumkum all over the body.

The Bhajan party was moving in the front singing, “Raghubathi Raghava Rajaram’ and playing castanets. It was a relatively big crowd. Nannaiyan was caught amidst the bhajan party like a prisoner. The party moved along, leaving no nook and corner of the village, and stopped near the canal on the way to the river. The holy chants of the bhajan party resonated across the riverfront. The name of Hanuman resounded like ocean waves for half an hour. They raised a two-cubit high tomb with cement and planted a peepal sapling and watered it.

The chant of the name was over. Everyone prostrated to pay their obeisance.

“You bugger! Why are you standing dumb? You murderer! Fall on, and pay your respect” that village elder shouted. Nannaiyan quickly wrapped the towel around his waist, fell flat on the ground, paid his respects, rose and did the same four times.

***Ended***