Translated from the Tamil by Shaarvari Shreenath
On the single dust-laden path that ran by a line of oak trees, turning a sharp left from the Poomari Amman temple, Maheswaran peddled his brand-new bicycle delicately, almost like he didn’t want to exert it. As his feet pedaled, the cycle chain spun silkily like rice porridge slipping down his gullet. It was so effortless. Maheswaran didn’t feel like he was riding a bicycle. Could flying on an aeroplane top this feeling? It was as if he had been lifted from the ground and was now cruising the skies.
The handlebars were painted a handsome indigo, and on either side, he’d hung red and green tassels. He’d covered the cycles in splashes of sandal paste to let everyone know that it was new. The cycle wasn’t the only thing that shone anew and bright – Maheswaran the mason did too. Like a king attending the temple festival, he was proudly wearing the silk veshti and shirt his wife Annakodi’s father, his uncle Ponnarasu, had bought for him for his wedding. Even the sandal paste tilakam on his forehead gleamed.
Maheswaran had desperately wanted the first ride on the cycle to be with his son. He’d thought of flagging down a lorry coming in from Aaraikkal town to transport the cycle home. However, no such vehicle would even come close to his town, not even ones that had lost their way. One glance at the slippery, rocky road, drivers would realise that death was destined down that path, turn their vehicles to go other way. That’s why he’d been forced to deboard on the main road itself, near the exit to his town.
He spent the journey convincing himself that it was all the same if he rode the cycle first with or without his son. His heart was beating right up in his throat as he had rounded the corner of the Poomari Amman temple. He deliberately ignored the bystanders standing at the bus stop, drinking tea at the stalls staring at him shamelessly as he passed. Like flies swarming over ripened fruit, he could feel their gaze following him. But he didn’t swat them away. They’re all just like this, he thought. Even if they were flying in a plane themselves, they would stare at him on his cycle enviously. Especially knowing he was a guy from Kachamangalam – they were aflame from head to toe with open jealousy.
Like a king taking his throne, he mounted his cycle. Maheswaran let his cycle fly with his head held high. This had been his wish for a while. Actually, calling it a wish was an understatement. It was his dream, goal – mania even. And ‘a while’ wasn’t just days – it was years in the making, a lifetime even.
Before he’d become the tall, handsome man with the glorious beard and moustache of today, back when he was only ten years old, he’d visited his uncle Ganesan’s village for a wedding. One of his uncle’s friends had arrived on a cycle. Maheswaran, who’d been busy savoring a sour candy had been gob smacked. Candy forgotten, saliva now dripping down his chin, he’d stared at the stranger. His name was Sundaram, but his friends only called him Cycle- Sundaram – with good reason of course. He rode with swagger – like he knew he was better than everybody else. Maheswaran can still recall vividly the image of his haughty indifference to those around him.
Amidst the gaggle of guests arriving on bullock carts, Sundaram stood apart, like a squire straddling his stallion. Maheswaran noticed that not only were all the young unmarried girls enamored by him, but even women with children cradled in their arms stole admiring glances at him when they could. His head of hair that was neatly parted and combed, shirt with the top three buttons unbuttoned and a collar that was starched straight, announcing ‘look at how new I am’ and ‘stay behind me’, the way he didn’t even bend his body but smoothly alighted by making a swift arc in the air with his left leg – the pre-pubescent boy’s brain boggled. That whole day Maheswaran’s attention rallied between the man and his cycle. That day he made up his mind that one way or another he must buy a cycle too.
The desire that took root that day, finally bore fruit and now he was flying on his own cycle at the age of 27. He momentarily pulled on the handlebars tightly. He didn’t have any important work that day. His dear Annakodi, and his son Seelan would be waiting to welcome him on his new chariot, their eyes impatiently glued to the road. His chest felt aglow with the image of his son running towards him excitedly. He was already fulfilling his son’s cycle dream at 6, which had been only a pipe-dream for him at 10. He didn’t feel bad having had to wait this long though. In fact, he felt more pleasure in getting to share this with his son, rather than realizing his dream alone.
Even though he had grown up working on his grandmother’s land, ploughing and irrigating, he hadn’t joined the crowd laboring in the wild lands. Instead, he had gone to Aaraikkal and found a job there. He had pleaded with a mason to hire him, and soon he’d earned the reputation of being a hardworking, trustworthy hand and had become a mason himself by the time he was 25. Soon the money flow had increased and his cycle dream rose up to the surface to be born again.
Maheswaran now realized if he kept at this speed he would only cover the next 25 kilometers to his house when the midday sun was at its apex, and sped up. Hunger too was overpowering him.
The cycle stumbled along the path that proudly tossed around even motor vehicles. Even when he held the handlebar firmly, it was impossible to travel without frequent hops from time to time. Maheswaran was familiar with every bump, every crevice and ridge on the path. Like a river, he skillfully swerved, and the cycle obeyed him seamlessly. Still, he dreamt of riding his new cycle on a smooth tar road. He hated how this dusty path stunted his skill of being able to ride with his hands-off, of balancing just with his legs.
This wasn’t Maheswaran’s first cycle. Three years ago, when he’d gone to town for a new construction job, he spotted a close-to-dying, rusty cycle at the Valli-Dheivanai Cycle Shop. It had felt like a sign, like, that which he was seeking was seeking him. It had fallen in the corner, neglected, like it was a pedal away from being recycled.
“Anna, is this for sale?”
As soon as the shopkeeper spotted him, his eyes shone. He quickly concealed his delight, and said nonchalantly, “Yes, so what?”
The shopkeeper, with sacred ash coloring his forehead, refused to look at him while speaking. “Anna…how much?”
Knowing he would easily give it away, the shopkeeper continued to avoid Maheswaran’s eyes, said, “Why? As if you’re going to buy it. It’s already been reserved for somebody else. It’ll go tomorrow.”
“Anna, how much? I want to buy it. I have money with me,” Maheswaran said, keeping his hand on his pocket.
“500 rupees, not a rupee lesser,” the scheming shopkeeper said.
Maheswaran deflated upon hearing the price, and the shopkeeper noticed this.
Like a skilled salesman, he quickly pitched, “Thambi, you know there’s more demand for old cycles these days. Nowadays the new models are not of good quality. One rain and rust starts flaking from the handlebars. But slap on some new paint and oil on this and it will carry you for 10, 15 years easily.”
“That, I see anna. But the price is too high. Please give me a discount, I’ll buy it. 300 rupees,” he pleaded.
“Ayyo, go boy. You have no idea how much this is in demand, it’ll fly off the rack just like that. An old cycle like this doesn’t last more than two days in my shop. You want to take it now? I’ll reduce 50 rupees,” he said.
“How can I do that na, if you will paint and oil it fresh and give…” Maheswaran pulled aside his lungi flap, took 450 from his trouser pocket and handed it over with a small laugh. That same evening, the cycle was in his possession.
Maheswaran would make Annakodi sit behind him and take her on rides up and down to town on the same road. But one day, his metallic pride and joy lay smashed in and misshapen in the front of his house. “It is the Sokkanoor fellows only,” was the talk heard around his town – because such “accidents” and breakages caused by them happened around town frequently. His heart mirrored the shattered cycle parts he saw that day, but he didn’t go to the police station. Instead, Maheswaran vowed to buy a brand-new cycle.
He could hear the dark sparrows singing from the coconut groves, thought, ‘do you see me? Do you see my new cycle?’ happily, laughing to himself as he rode. As he crossed the snakepit as tall as a man, he was amazed thinking of the termites that built it. In the distance, he spotted Duraisami and Chinnammal, along with a few other women, making their way swiftly.
“Oi chithappa, where are you going?” he shouted.“Thottipalayam. I’m taking them to the peanut field for the weeding,” Duraisami shouted back. When Maheswaran neared them, his chithappa stroked the new cycle with tenderness, “It looks good. Annam and Seelan must be excitedly waiting to see this. Go home swiftly, son.”
Chinnammal and the accompanying women, each holding onto their brass lunch carriers, began teasing Maheswaran about the shiny cycle, the colourful tassles hanging from the handlebar, and his own face that was glowing to match it all. Anyone wearing silk veshti and shirt for any occasion besides their own wedding or the temple festival seemed out of place like a drama troupe member in costume, and was entitled to some ridicule.
“Oho, the silk veshti and shirt look bold. Are you getting married again? Where’s the girl from this time?”
“Oh she’s from here only. Will you come? We can just head to the Poomari temple and get it out of the way,” Maheswaran teased the old lady back causing a fresh batch of giggles to break out. “Ey you old bats, am I the only one you found today to target?” he laughed along heartily before resuming his journey.
Almost 3 kilometers after parting from his little audience, he spotted an old man, slightly bent over with age, taking slow laborious steps as he walked along. As he got closer and closer to him, he could hear the man’s coughs reverberating across the way to him. He was wearing a veshti and shirt that had perhaps been white when he’d first purchased it but had since begun to bear the passage of time.
He doesn’t seem like he’s from here’ Maheswaran thought but then focused back on the red sand path ahead of him, picking up speed as he went. A sudden wind that seemed to rattle the very forests he was riding by, swept the dust off the red earth until the air was thick with it, making its way into Maheswaran’s mouth and eyes. He stumbled and stopped with his left foot on the ground. The old man took the piece of cloth tossed over his shoulder and wiped his face before looking over at Maheswaran.
“Thambi, are you going by the Sokkanoor route?” he coughed while addressing him.
Maheswaran was immediately drawn to the kind cadence in his voice.
“No ayya, there’s a small lake that’s on the way. If you go straight from there, you’ll reach Sokkanoor, if you go right, you’ll reach my village.”
“Then will you be able to drop me off near the lake?”
“Uh, that’s not it ayya, I just…,” Maheswaran trailed off.
The old man looked closely at his cycle, said, “Are you hesitating to take an old man on your brand-new cycle?”
“It’s not that ayya,” he said, silently asking Annakodi for forgiveness. He’d promised to take her around town as his first passenger on the cycle.“
I’ve been struggling with asthma for the past decade, thambi. Just taking four steps knocks the wind out of me. Can I take the back seat?” He placed his hand over his chest as he spoke and coughed heavily.
The old man’s request negated Maheswaran’s guilt, and he reluctantly agreed. He convinced himself that such a good deed will only be paid forward and reward his family later.
The old man hefted himself and sat pillion on the glistening metal carrier at the back. His weight shook the body of the cycle. Silver hair had begun sprouting on the man’s hands which currently held on tightly to a small yellow cloth bag with reams of folded paper inside, all which Maheswaran made note of. Upon the old man’s request, he hung it on the handlebar and began peddling again. Initially his chariot seemed to resist his efforts but then began listening to him and moving smoothly.
“Any special occasion?”
“No ayya, why do you ask.”
“You’re dressed in silk…”
“Oh that! I just bought this cycle from the shop this morning. My wife Annam was adamant that I go dressed in my finest so I wore this.”
“That’s good pa. What work do you do?”
“I’m a mason ayya, I work in Aaraikkal town,” Maheswaran said.
“That’s good pa, that’s good. You’re not struggling, farming like us. You’re doing something that pays you money,” the man conceded.
“Somehow, from a young age, I never liked farming. I thought I should study. The school in my village was far away. And my father wanted all his children to work on the land together. Once he passed, my brother took over and now takes care of the land ayya. And I have my own family now, so I started doing this instead.”
Caught up in the engaging exchange, Maheswaran failed to notice a big rock on his path. As the cycle skid against it and he almost lost balance, the old man held tightly onto Maheshwaran’s back as he balanced himself again.
“Such a big rock tried to make us fall; you held on well ayya.”
“I know I’ll be safe with you thambi, as strong as a teak – you just ride pa,” he said making Maheswaran laugh.
When Annakodi held his body close, she too would tease – “My own mighty teak,” she’d whisper, lips close to his ear causing goose pimples to erupt over his whole body.
“Ayya are you from Asaloor? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here…”
“Yes thambi. I’m from Melkottai. You know Melkottai? There’s an old fort up in the mountains, that place.”
“I’ve hear about it, but I have never been.”
“My family god Aadhi Ayyanar temple festival used to draw crowds from this whole district. But that was a long time ago. There’s no one who didn’t know Melkottai. But in the fight for honour, everyone seems to have forgotten the Ayyanar,” he trailed off.
“Who’s fighting ayya?”
“Brothers only.”
“Why should brothers fight ayya? The younger siblings should concede to their older brother no,” Maheswaran said.
The old man sighed deeply.
“In this day and age who even respects their older brother. Those days are gone. Nowadays even the little ones want their bits and pieces. Even I am undergoing conflicts with my younger brother’s family in Sokkanoor over my property. I’m actually on my way right now to counter my brother’s sons over it.”
Maheswaran mechanically acknowledged it but inwardly his mind was already spinning. ‘Is it okay for me drop off this man? Will his family members create trouble if they see us?” he argued with himself. But he was an old, clearly ailing man, and Maheswaran couldn’t live with himself if he just abandoned him on the road. He pedaled harder. The old man’s fear seemed evident in his story.
“My father made us promise we won’t partition the ancestral land. About seven eight years ago, my younger brother drowned in the river while bathing and died. After that, his sons cornered me and demanded they be given their share of the land. If we split up the land like that, our family’s good reputation in the village will be destroyed. I refused. Immediately they filed a case against me and took me to court. And my brother’s wife – she’s one bloodthirsty gold-digger. I’ve been forced to trek to and from the courts for years now. They don’t even care that I’m old, they just want me to run around,” he said, like a man resigned to his fate.
Maheswaran remained silent.
“What thambi, you’re not saying anything.”
“Nothing ayya, I just thought maybe you could talk to each other properly and sort it out.”
“You’re a good guy. You generously let your older brother take the land, and for the sake of the whole family’s harmony, became a mason. But the ones my brother sired, they’re running around obsessed over the property. It’s all fate. If you break up the land into small small pieces, then how can you live with your head held high in society. The size of your piece of land determines how much people respect you, no?”
Maheswaran did not agree with that.
“You should try talking to them ayya…Talking properly can solve most problems. In order to live a good happy life, you need to compromise for the ones you love,” he said diplomatically.
“You’re right. That’s why I’m going right now. The judgement is due next week. We need to reach a conclusion,” the old man said kindly as he stared out at the lush peanut field they were passing.
“Wow I knew there had to be a peanut field here, I could smell it from afar. Just stop for a minute pa, I’ll grab a few we can eat along the way. If you pass by peanuts without eating them, they’ll feel bad.”
Maheswaran laughed as he pulled to stop on the side. The old man carefully alighted and stepped into the field. “You come too Thambi.”
“No ayya, you just quickly pluck a few stems and come back – the field hand will get angry if he spots us,” Maheswaran replied.
He knew who the field belonged to. And he would have even stopped the old man. But he was on his way to Sokkanoor. So, it wouldn’t be an issue. Moreover, he seemed to have transformed into a young boy full of excitement at the sight of the peanuts. His heart didn’t allow stopping him. His heart was clearly younger than the body that held it. Maheswaran had never met anyone as kind as the old man outside of his own village.
The old man combed the plants thriving in the damp red soil carefully with his fingers, searching for the mature stems with the black spots visible on the yellow leaves and plucking only them.
As Maheswaran stared out into the distance, he could spot the banks of the lake. It would have taken him just thirty minutes to cover the distance. But for this old man, who would have trudged slowly, panting and coughing, it would definitely take an hour or even longer. If you went straight through Sokkanoor, his village Kachamangalam was only six kilometers away. But for more than a year now, no one from his village took that route through Sokkanoor. They would go around the lake, take a path that bypassed Sokkanoor and added four more kilometers to their journey, and joined the main road going towards his village.
Annakodi always warned him about this without fail every time he left home.
“It is okay even if it takes longer, go around the lake mama.”
The old man’s voice interrupted Maheswaran who was lost in thought staring at the horizon.
“The grass is always green where you water it. Look at this forest. It has been ploughed over and over again, the red soil is now fertile enough and we can expect to harvest these peanuts any day now,” the old man’s excitement was palpable.
He held the bunch of still green peanuts to his nose and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. The smell of rich soil laced with the aroma of the nuts made their mouths water. Even someone as uninterested in agriculture as Maheswaran couldn’t help but get carried away with the old man’s excitement. He laughed.
“Let’s go to the lake thambi, I’ll wash these there and we can eat. This is just what I need to still my hunger on such a hot day.”
They reached the lake. Maheswaran carefully parked his new cycle in the shade of one of the trees on lake’s bank.
“Just wait pa, I’ll just wash my face, dunk these in the water too and be back swiftly,” the old man said before stepping down carefully into the lake. He washed the almost fully ripe peanut vines in the water. The red soil glistened on the pods before slowly dissolving into the lake water. The old man shook off the excess water from the vines before placing them on a rock nearby. He then proceeded to splash water all over his arms and face and neck, like a sparrow taking a bath.
Maheswaran, still in the shade of the neem tree, reached up and shook a branch he could reach, causing the small yellow neem fruits to scatter everywhere like gems. A disgruntled bird shat, the dropping falling on his cycle with a resounding thwack, before flying away.
Maheswaran cursed and threw a stone in its direction. “I’m trying so hard to take care of it and there you go, ruining it.”
He picked up a few fallen leaves and wiped the cycle clean, leaving no trace of the dropping. The bird had, in reality, shat on his dream of taking the cycle home in the same pristine condition he had bought it. Frazzled, Maheswaran pulled out a beedi that he had kept wrapped up in his lungi and took a drag. His heart told him he needed to go home as soon as possible.
The old man wiped his face using the piece of cloth thrown over his shoulder as he made his way back to Maheswaran, said, “Okay pa, give me also a few drags. The closer we get to the village, the more my mind feels scrambled.”
Before he could object, the old man had taken the beedi from him. He closed his eyes as he took a deep drag. “Ever since I got asthma, I stopped smoking beedis and cigarettes thambi. But something in me is calling out to it now.”
Maheswaran liked watching the old man skillfully pushing the smoke down his throat before letting it go out through his nose. He suddenly seemed atleast ten years younger.
“You should resolve the dispute ayya… it's just your brother’s sons. They’re acting in haste. You should just think of them as your sons and let it go. Go smiling, go with good intentions – I’m sure they will also give in –” he thought of saying something more but cut himself off.“
Hatred is poisonous ayya. It will kill us before it even reaches the other person,” Maheswaran said after a pause.
The old man took the last drag of the beedi, and as it went out, said, “You’re right about everything thambi. But if someone is not letting us live, we can’t give in and die, can we? We should fight him to death if that’s what it’ll take to stay alive.”
The old man said this also in a kind cadence, making Maheswaran look at him in surprise. He then got up and dusted himself off, ready to leave.
“Go carefully ayya. It’s getting late for me too.”
“I have one more request for you thambi. You’re like my son, so I’m asking like your father. I don’t have it in me to walk beyond this. Can you drop me off in Sokkanoor itself?”
“No ayya…don’t take me the wrong way but it is getting late for me. My son has been waiting for me since the morning. You please take your time and walk,” he felt guilty turning down the pleading old man. But more than the urge to go home immediately, it was his reluctance to go to Sokkanoor that stopped him. He didn’t want to encounter any trouble on a good day like this with his new cycle.
“It’s not that thambi. My wife is also unhappy I came here in this state. If something happened to me, she will solely blame my brother’s sons and cause a riot,” he laughed mirthlessly. “I’m starting to feel dizzy too. I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk. I’m not in the right state of mind. And I’m enjoying talking to you. I can go meet them with a little more energy this way.”
Maheswaran couldn’t refuse him beyond this. He started pedaling his way down the road leading to Sokkanoor. The old man chewed the peanuts with his tobacco stained teeth. His tongue savoured the sweetness of the fresh nut. He split a few and gave them to Maheswaran. But he refused them. They rode in silence, both content with the wind in their hair, soft nuts to chew on and the joy of a newfound connection with a stranger.
Even though the old man sang under his breath, the tune and familiar lyrics made its way to Maheswaran’s ears, making him laugh heartily. “Ayya seems to be an MGR fan,” he remarked.
“Yes thambi, as soon as I think of Thalaivar, I feel alive again.”
As he traversed the lakeside road, he could hear Annakodi’s voice saying, “Go around the lake mama, don’t go near Sokkanoor.” Even if that was already something he knew, every single time he left home, she would remind him. And Maheswaran had never disobeyed Annam. Sometimes he would think about rising up to the Sokkanoor guys’ bait and fighting back. But these days, Seelan’s face would pop up and stop him immediately.
But an old ailing man had sought his help, and Maheswaran couldn’t refuse.
He stopped the cycle when they came in view of the nameboard announcing Sokkanoor.
“Ayya, you should get off here.”
“Okay pa,” the old man alighted, straightened his creased veshti, and dusted the piece of cloth on his shoulder.
Maheswaran was filled with a sudden sadness when he saw him, weathered with age and ailment.
“It won’t be good to trouble you any further thambi. Thank you so much.”
“Be careful ayya. Everything will go well,” he said, and turned his cycle around when a bike came to a screeching halt in his path. Maheswaran lost his balance and was about to fall when he somehow found firm footing and stood up. A dark cloud had descended upon a clear sunny sky.
The newcomer had recognized the old man the same moment the old man had identified him. Maheswaran noted his slightly chubby face, the barely-there facial hair, slightly balding head, and most importantly, a saffron line on his forehead.
This is my brother’s son Akkiniyan, the old man thought, just as the younger man realised that this was his uncle. He immediately grabbed the old man by a fistful of his shirt.
“Yov, how dare you step into my town after everything you’ve done.”
Maheswaran observed that the old man’s coughs were getting louder as he got a little breathless and understood everything.
“Anna, ayya has come here in peace to discuss and sort everything out. Just take him home and talk it out. Everything will get fixed. He’s unwell too,” he intervened.
The guy’s gaze which had until then been trained on his disputing uncle, now turned to Maheswaran. The moment recognition dawned, he dropped his uncle and jumped on him instead.
“You piece of shit, who do you think you are interfering in our matters.”
Like a dog bred to hunt, the newcomer stood still, body radiating with purpose, ready for a fight. He kicked Maheswaran in the chest with such force, the blindsided man went flying, taking his cycle along with him.
Seeing the two people he hated the most in front of him, Akkiniyan transformed into a monster.
“Yov, uncle. Why did you bring this lowcaste dog to our meeting?”
He slammed his foot down on Maheswaran’s chest even as he tried to stand up, throwing him down again. A stark redsand footprint was emblazoned on Maheswaran’s wedding silks. He tried futilely to push the leg away.
“Yov, you came riding with him? After snatching away our share of property, you’ve stooped lower and begun mingling with them?”
Akkiniyan held the old man by his throat while pressing his foot down similarly on Maheswaran’s. “You Kachamangalam dog. You usually go around the lake with your tail between your legs. How dare you step into our town? Today you’re my sacrificial lamb.”
Maheswaran’s eyes met the old man’s. Neither of them said a word.
“You think you’re better than a piece of shit by going to the police station? I’m going to end you today and no one will even be able to find your body,” Akkiniyan said as he began searching desperately for something to use as a weapon.
The old man tried to turn his head this way and that, to somehow breathe in some air after having been in a chokehold. Very slowly, carefully, he reached into his yellow cloth bag and pulled out a knife that had been concealed within the page folds. It was so sharp, just looking at it could draw blood. Both Maheswaran, who’d slowly pulled himself out from under his cycle after much struggle, and Akkiniyan, who was holding the coconut sized rock he’d found, stood staring in shock at the old man.
The old man looked at both of them. Like beasts and their prey, the three stood sizing each other up. Who was going to eat whom?
“Kill him ayya. Only if we kill him, will the dog know his place. The field dog thinks it deserves silk shirts and new cycles – you see how brazen they’ve become,” Akkiniyan turned towards the old man as he addressed him. He understood that his uncle had come here with the intention to kill him. He knew that this was revenge for making him run around the courts. ‘
As if cheating me of my share of property wasn’t enough, he’s now come here to kill me. Lawfully, I should be targeting him. But in the crossfire, I can’t risk this Kachamangalam dog escaping. First let me get rid of him, then take care of this uncle’ Akkiniyan considered his options.
Meanwhile Maheswaran was a broken man, bearing the guilt of not heeding Annakodi’s words and digging his own grave. He still couldn’t believe that the old man had been travelling all this time with a knife and bloodlust coursing through his veins. Can one commit a murder being this kind and peaceful? Not possible. Can’t be. He must have brought it along only for self-defense, Maheswaran convinced himself.
He decided that somehow he must save this old man and himself from this monster. Since it was the afternoon, the town would be empty, save for a couple of stragglers. Even if Akkiniyan shouted for back-up, it would be difficult to attract a crowd. Before anyone else came, Maheswaran decided he must get away. Unable to predict what was going to happen next, he kept his eye on both the old man and the beast.
The old man walked slowly towards Akkiniyan, knife held up.
“Yov, kill him man, he’s going to escape. We’ve been waiting – hoping to catch one of these loafers alone without his herd to protect him.”
As the old man closed in on Akkiniyan, Maheswaran calmly calculated.
“Why are you coming towards me man? You’re going to kill me? Don’t come close, I swear, I’ll kill you if you do,” he lifted the rock over his head, ready to throw it, and screamed from the pit of his stomach.
The old man approached Akkiniyan, ready to stab, when a fit of coughs rattled him.
‘You should resolve the dispute ayya…its just your brother’s sons. They’re acting in haste. You should just think of them as your sons and let it go. Go smiling, go with good intentions – I’m sure they will also give in’ – Maheswaran’s advice echoed in his ear.
The old man stopped coughing, looked at his nephew and suddenly smiled.
Maheswaran stared at him in confusion.
The old man took the knife in both his hands and handed it over to Akkiniyan as if he was giving him a prize, all the while laughing.
“Are you well my son? Let’s end this here,” he said. Akkiniyan looked puzzled but only momentarily. Then, overcome with sudden pleasure, he conceded immediately, “Water under the bridge, it’s all done. Who do we have? Only each other. Like I said, let’s get rid of him first. For three years now, they’ve been roaming too freely, running to the station to lodge cases it seems.”
Then, the old man spewed even more hateful words amidst his cough bouts, “I asked him to drop me off because I couldn’t walk anymore. This dog didn’t tell me where he belongs, without showing what caste he is, made me get on his cycle. He made me touch his back. I told him my brother’s family lives in Sokkanoor. Even then he didn’t tell me. With his moustache and silk shirt, he tried to pretend he was one of us and fooled me,” he stopped speaking and raised his head a little.
“Akkiniya! My son! I thought he was one of us and took a drag from his beedi. His spit touched me. Are you telling me his disgusting smoke is in my body? I should just kill myself. I will give you the property, just as you asked. Just kill him in front of my eyes. Only if his blood spills, can mine rest in peace.”
The old man hurled his words at Maheswaran like knives. Akkiniyan did not wait any more. Maheswaran was no longer confused.
“You’re dead,” Akkiniyan shouted, ready to jump when Maheswaran ran and smacked the old man down, and punched his nephew square in the nose. Both stumbled and fell down. But Akkiniyan did not stop. He swept his foot out, caught Maheswaran’s legs and pulled him down to the ground and wrestled with him. In a whirl of red sand dust, they fought each other.
Amidst this, the old man tried to grab Maheswaran by his neck but the younger man slipped away, and found the black rock and threw it at the old man’s knees. The old man’s eyes widened as he felt the pain of his knees shattering. Akkiniyan kicked Maheswaran down and repeatedly slammed his foot in his face. He picked up the rock now bathed in his uncle’s blood and raised it aloft, aimed at Maheswaran.
“Dei, someone come fast, I’ve caught a Kachamangalam guy,” he shouted in the direction of his village.
But there was no one around.
The old man picked up the knife at his feet and stood up with renewed vigor, aiming at Maheswaran’s torso. All three of them were panting. Like fallen prey, Maheswaran lay next to his new cycle. He could see Seelan and Annakodi. His eyes which had closed upon experiencing intense pain, then stubbornly opened.
*
Annakodi sat waiting for the man who was supposed to return by noon, but was yet to be seen even after sun-down, with her stomach in knots, eyes glued to the end of the road. Seelan, who was on her lap, sleepily whined, “Amma, its already dark. Where is Appa? Why is he not here. He said he’ll take us in the new cycle to go see a movie in the theater.”
Just then, Duraisami arrived.
“Annam, there’s been an incident in Sokkanoor. Two men killed each other – property dispute it seems. The police is swarming the whole place. It’s a mess. Tell Mahes not to go that way dear,” he said, before leaving.
“But he’s not here yet, I don’t know what’s happened to him. Did he get stuck in Sokkanoor trying to come home the short way, ayyo,” she began lamenting, when in the distance, she heard the rhythmic tick of the cycle.
Her body was tense, eyes desperately trained in the dark distance.
Annakodi saw Maheswaran coming on his new cycle. She rushed to him, “What happened mama? What is this blood? You’re hurt, ayyo. The cycle is also bent up. What happened?”
“Nothing di. New cycle. I was riding it a bit too fast. I didn’t see the ditch before I fell in and fainted. I just came to,” he said.
Annakodi stared at him in disbelief.
Maheswaran went to the well, filled a tub with water and poured mugful after mugful of water over himself, washing his whole body. His red blood mixed with the red earth made the water run red.
At dawn the next day, Maheswaran took Seelan on his cycle and went around town, as promised.
Jeyarani is journalist, writer, and photographer. She has been working in various Tamil media outlets for over twenty years, documenting the lives of marginalized people through her writing and photography. Her latest short story collection Sennilam (Red Earth, 2025) has been critically acclaimed for its portrayal of the pervasiveness of caste violence.
Shaarvari Shreenath is an aspiring translator and writer from Chennai. She’s a closeted dreamer who works a humdrum corporate job.