Story postings

The following stories are also posted in Song of the waves - Parayil A. Tharakan Blog

Morning After The Storm - Part 1.

A Tyreseller.

Songs of the sea - Part 1.

A Crow in the Bonnet

A VODKA STORY

Flash Fiction: Medicine Specialist.

Short Story: A Bend in the Lake.

Short Story: JESUS BY THE ROADSIDE.

The story of a story.

Fiction (Flash): The Wait.

BIG ONE and 'BELT' CHACKO - concluding part

In the morning when Chacko was ready to leave, Carlson opened two boxes of cartridges. He test fired one from each lot and handed over the rest along with the gun to Chacko. He also presented him a headlamp and an ammunition belt.

Before they parted the white man said, “Remember, Big One doesn’t know the power and range of this rifle.”

Chacko returned to Kadep alone. On arrival he went straight to the vicarage and had the gun blessed. Carlson was a Protestant and therefore his gun had to be purified before a Catholic could use it. Then he entered the old church. The smell of incense from morning mass still lingered inside. He presented the weapon and accessories at St. Anthony's altar and knelt for a long time before the statue of the dark robed saint. He took out a silver piece shaped like a crocodile, which Mariam had given, and deposited in the box for offerings.

That very night Big One made his presence known. He razed to ground Janaki's fence on the canal side. The woman ran away screaming. By the time Chacko reached the scene the crocodile was gone. He rebuilt the structure and waited beside it with the rifle for several nights. Big One did not come. But when the hunter gave up the watch the beast demolished the fence again.

Chacko started going out on the lake at nights in a canoe. It was a calculated risk. Salinity in the backwater increased sharply during summer and there was an abundance of fluorescent planktons. In the dark any disturbance would make the water sparkle because of the micro organisms. It was easy to locate and identify objects that moved. But there was an element of risk. If the crocodile floated log-like during slack tide, the telltale signs would be absent. The venture turned out to be futile anyway, and was abandoned.

The hunter changed tactics. Late at night he would wait invitingly near one of the several mangrove forests by the shore or by a canal or on the embankments that protected the rice fields but nothing happened. He wondered why Big One didn’t strike. Was the crocodile trying to wear him out or waiting for the rains? He knew that as time passed his efficiency and alertness would wane.

Days crawled by.

The konna trees bloomed ushering in Vishu, the New Year that the Hindus celebrated. It fell in mid-April. Clusters of small yellow flowers hung from gray, leafless branches covering entire trees like splash of sunshine. But there was no brightness in Chacko’s heart. He was lonely. There was no one to talk to. People appeared to be avoiding him.

The hunter evolved a new plan. After dark he would tie a live goat to a mango tree by the lakeside and wait at a vantage point on the branches.

After two uneventful nights of this routine, Ali the hunter from across the lake came to see him again. The Martini Henry fascinated the visitor. No body in that locality had seen a weapon like that. The two hunters talked at length about Carlson, the training at Windermere Estate, and about Chacko's efforts to track down the crocodile.

"Don't waste your sleep," Ali said, as he was about to depart. "Since there is fluorescence in the water Big One won't come at night. It's likely to be a daytime attack."

Chacko smiled sheepishly.

He walked behind the Muslim till the edge of the courtyard as the man was leaving. "Perhaps," he stuttered, "we can team up now?"

Ali turned around and gave him a long look. "Sorry," he said. "You make too many mistakes."

Chacko stood all alone watching the man walk away.

Every morning and at bedtime Chacko used to say a cursory prayer out of habit, standing before a picture of St. Anthony. That night also he mumbled, "Please take care of us," and lay down.

Soon the saint was smiling at him. The scene lap dissolved to show a coconut grove with patches of drying grass. In the background was a cluster of trees. The sun was bright. A golden colored snake, about a foot long and very thin, shimmered on the ground. It had a small hood. The minuscule emerald eyes were watching him.

The hunter woke up. He spent a long time trying to interpret the dream. The serpents that the Hindus worshipped, he knew, were supposed to be tiny golden reptiles. The belief was that humans could see them only if they wished to be seen. What was one of them doing in the vision that he had?

Next day the answer came to him. He remembered one morning at Windermere. Carlson was sitting at his office table with the GTS map before him. Chacko stood beside.

"Tell me about these woods," the sahib said pointing to the marked areas on the map.

"They are sacred groves," Chacko replied. "The Hindus venerate the serpent sculptures in them."

“How big are they?”

“Most of them are small. Less than half an acre.”

"This one by the western shore?"

Chacko explained that it was the largest and the most important woods on the island. It was spread over two acres. The trees and the undergrowth were very dense. The canal that went past Janaki's house was its southern boundary. The lakeside was fringed with mangroves.

Carlson had left it at that. Now the hint seemed clear to Chacko. He started walking by the grove every day around noon, passing very close to its edge. He was well aware that Big One’s foray would be unannounced, like death. His only hope was natures’ warning system – the rustle of the undergrowth if there was any movement in the grove.

Big One was there on the fifth day, for sure. Chacko heard the roar and stopped. A moment later he cursed aloud. The sudden realization that a Christian entering the sacred abode of the serpent gods or any one shooting into it would offend the Hindus, was a crushing blow. As the man walked away with slouched shoulders Big One bellowed repeatedly.

The hunter adapted a new routine. He started roaming the island extensively during daylight. Because of the ammunition belt that he wore constantly, people began referring to him as 'Belt' Chacko. Friends and relatives seemed to distance themselves as though contact with him might endanger them. He carried on nevertheless, inspecting the ponds and the canals, walking over the dykes and by the lake shore, and sometimes even venturing into the mangrove forests. By sunset it was back to the emptiness of the house.

Now there was a new phenomenon - nightmares. They occurred with alarming frequency. The theme was always the same and the scenes passed in slow motion with great clarity - Big One tossing little Mathai in his mouth and swallowing him feet first and the child screaming.

At that point Chacko would wake up sweating and shivering.

"Are you sick?" the priest asked when the hunter appeared before him one morning with a week's growth of beard and disheveled hair.

Chacko shook his head negatively. “I need money,” he bumbled. “I'm going back to Windermere.”

The vicar studied him carefully. "There's no man," he said perceptively,” who has not known fear."

"Carlson sahib," Chacko continued, ignoring what the father had said, "offered me a job. I'll repay you from my salary."

The priest was silent for a while. Then he said, "Running away doesn't solve problems."

“Big One won’t bother me in the hills.”

“Wrong. He’ll haunt you throughout your life.”

“At least,” Chacko said defensively, “my son would be safe.”

“And when he grows up, he’ll know that his father ran away from a crocodile.”

The hunter was silent.

The priest opened a drawer of his table, took out some money and gave Chacko. He put both hands on the man's shoulders, gripping firmly. "Go if you must," he said looking deep into Chacko's eyes. "Only what God has willed can happen. I'll pray for you."

The hunter hurried home and after packing, shaved and bathed. He sat on the black steel trunk that he was taking along. The bullets, ammunition belt and the headlamp were placed inside the game bag that Carlson had given.

Suddenly he remembered the bottle Janaki had presented while he was guarding her fence, saying, "This is a unique brew." He had buried it in a sack of paddy to keep the liquor warm, planning to give it to Luka. He retrieved the bottle and placed it also in the bag.

There was plenty of time. The afternoon boat was only at five o' clock. Once he boarded the vessel he would be safe. Only the priest knew that he was leaving. Perhaps Big One as well, like the last time. But if the beast repeated that performance the rifle would be the answer. Then he realized that there was another possible scenario. The monster could quietly slip in close to the boat under water and get on board and in the ensuing melee a safe shot would be difficult.

Chacko started sweating.

He looked at St. Anthony's picture. He took it off the wall, came back and sat on the luggage. The saint would not only offer protection but also be a symbolic link to Kadep. He kissed the picture of the Miracle Worker and inserted it inside the bag and in the process, touched the bottle.

He pulled it out after a moment of hesitation, removed the stopper made of dry coconut husk with his teeth and took a long swig. He kept on drinking.

"The son of Mathai is dead," he shouted abruptly. “The great crocodile hunter is finished.”

He flung the empty bottle aside and lay down. There were no dreams, no nightmares. The hollow tranquility was shattered by loud sounds at the front door.

Chacko jumped up, snatched the rifle and backed against the wall, trembling.

"Chacko," some one called from outside.

He composed himself and opened the door. The priest stepped in and said, "I came to check. You didn't take the boat yesterday."

"I must have overslept."

"Yes," the priest said. "By more than twenty-four hours. It's nearing four o'clock."

After the visitor left, Chacko plucked two tender coconuts from a dwarf palm beside the house. He ate the kernels, drank the water and went back to sleep.

Life revived after hours. Fear was still there, like the original sin. There was, too, a sense of submission that fate could not be altered.

It was back to the rounds.

One afternoon, Chacko stopped by the lake shore a few hundred yards south of the jetty, where a retaining wall of granite blocks was built up to land level. He leaned against a coconut palm near the edge, resting the rifle by his side.

His eyes surveyed the backwaters.

It was a peaceful scene. The sky was a clear blue canopy over the expanse of the lake. Low tide had set in. There was hardly any breeze. Far to Chacko's right, a passenger boat was approaching on its way to Cochin. Ahead of it was a country craft. To the left, at some distance, a bale of hay was floating near the shore. The water was clear along the embankment. Any movement there could be easily noticed. Behind him was a coconut grove and beyond that the bazaar. A couple of mynas were picking grasshoppers. Crows that perched on the palms were silent. A kingfisher dived to catch its prey and flew away. The tattoo of a woodpecker came from somewhere in the distance.

No sign of any crocodile was visible.

Yet, for no apparent reason, Chacko was uneasy. Minutes passed. There were still no danger signals but the premonition persisted. He looked for birds resting on the water surface. Normally that meant a floating piece of wood or a crocodile below. Instinct warned him to move away and he straightened up. His heart pounded. He started sweating profusely.

The motorboat was close now, the noise of its engine clearly audible. The country craft trailed far behind. The hay had drifted near the retaining wall, directly in front of Chacko.

In a flash it came to the hunter's mind the bale was floating against the tide!

Chacko dived sideways holding the gun firmly, and rolled away. He heard a loud, slapping sound and knew that the crocodile had struck at the spot where he had been leaning moments ago. An earsplitting bellow from Big One followed.

The battle cry!

Chacko began rising to his knees, releasing the safety-catch of the rifle. The scene before him was blood chilling. The mammoth monster was out of the water, rushing at him with wide-open jaws.

For a moment Chacko was unnerved but recovered quickly. The beast was only a few feet away when he pulled the trigger. The roar of the gun and that of the crocodile merged. There were frantic cries from birds flying away in panic. In the background was the chugging of the boat's motor. Passengers were shouting excitedly.

Big One kept on coming.

Still holding the weapon, the hunter turned his face aside and put out his left hand in feeble defense.

After that there was darkness.

Many hours later Chacko opened his eyes. There was excruciating pain in his ribcage. Slowly he became aware of the smell of alcohol and of medicinal herbs. When the haziness lifted he realized that he was lying on a table in the meat shop. The priest, the butcher and the local medicine man were beside him. He saw too the stump of his left arm neatly tied with smoked, green banana leaves.

"Big One," the priest volunteered, "is dead."

Chacko closed his eyes.

Ends.

BIG ONE and 'BELT' CHACKO - 3

The child screamed.

Chacko rushed to where his wife and son slept. In the dim glow from the turned down wick of the lantern that was in a corner of the room he saw Mariam, half awake, gently patting the child. The crying tapered off. He crouched and touched little Mathai’s cheek. It was warm and soft and still wet where the tears had rolled down.

After a while he went back to his room. Many thoughts crossed his mind. Big One had accepted his challenge but he had failed to confront the beast. Why was he making so many mistakes? He had bagged his first crocodile at the age of thirteen and now, after eighteen years of exp

erience, he was performing like a novice. Was it because of some special power that Big One had? Was the creature really invincible?

At daybreak Chacko saw that Nero’s open grave had been annihilated. The skeleton was a heap of jointed and broken bones. The harpoon and the bamboo stakes were flat on the ground and the palm leaf streamers that had turned light brown in the sun lay scattered. Sand was viciously dug up in several parts of the ravaged square.

Instinct told the hunter that Big One wouldn’t come there again. He would have to locate and kill the enemy. If that didn’t happen before the first week of June when the southwest monsoon normally arrived, the beast would have an additional advantage. In the torrential rains it would be almost impossible to spot him. The ensuing floods would favor the crocodile to mount an attack.

Panic gripped the island. Big One had been to Chacko’s house three times but not a single shot had been fired. That was proof enough for the people to reiterate that the crocodile was an evil spirit and unconquerable.

After deliberating for a few days Chacko went secretly to a Brahmin astrologer who lived thirty miles away. The man asked for his horoscope. Like most Christians, he did not have one. The astrologer made him sit before a set of squares drawn on the floor and squatted opposite. He asked Chacko to name a flower and quote a number. The Brahmin made some calculations, moving his palms all the while along the sacred thread that was looped from his left shoulder to the right side of the torso. After identifying the star under which the hunter was born, he placed some small cowries on the squares and withdrew them systematically, chanting Sanskrit verses. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated.

Minutes passed before the Brahmin started talking. Words came out slowly and his voice sounded as though it emanated from a great distance.

“There is danger,” the man said. “You have a powerful adversary who is not human. You did something wrong to acquire such an enemy.”

“Perhaps it is anger against my father.”

“Your problem has nothing to do with your sire.”

Chacko did not respond.

“I can see,” the astrologer carried on haltingly, “water and land. I can also see you and a beast. And a row of stones. In the background there are two vague human figures. One appears white. The other is in a dark robe.”

There was a long pause. The Brahmin appeared to be straining to visualize the future. He opened his eyes abruptly and said, “I cannot see beyond that.”

Chacko was confused. What the astrologer said made no sense to him. “Is my enemy evil?” he asked.

“There is good and bad in all beings.”

“Sir, what I want to know is whether my opponent has supernatural powers.”

“Supernatural power is what The Supernatural Power bestows. It might be there, might not be there. No one can tell.”

“What should I do?”

The Brahmin considered the question and answered, “Shed all traces of pride. Purify yourself and acquire power. Pray to all your gods. The rest is fate.”

Still confused, Chacko went to the church as soon as he was back in Kadep. He didn’t tell the vicar about his visit to the astrologer. Without wasting time he asked, "Is Big One an evil spirit?"

"I don't think so," the priest answered. "But there are many things in this world for which we have no rational explanation."

"Father, I was confident of handling Big One. After all, I’m the best hunter in these areas. But now I'm beginning to feel a little uneasy."

The priest smiled. "Yes," he said, "I can see. That's a good sign."

"Why do you say that?"

"I know that you are capable of defeating Big One. But when a man is overconfident he's forgetting God. Without Him you’re nothing."

"What's you advice?"

"You must," the priest answered, "approach the enemy from a position of strength. Trust in God. And pray."

After contemplating what the priest and the astrologer had advised Chacko asked Mariam to pack. Next morning, they went to the pier on the eastern side of the island. Mariam walked in front carrying the child, and a small steel box containing essential clothing on her head. Chacko followed a few paces behind her with his loaded gun. There were some ponds and canals along the route. The hunter didn’t rule out the possibility of a surprise attack be Big One.

After a long wait at the jetty, the passenger vessel going south from Cochin to Alleppey, another port town, arrived and they boarded. It was one of the new crafts with a pentagonal wheelhouse on the roof, which were replacing the old paddle-wheeled steamers. The sleek motorboat would take about an hour to reach Vaikom, a small hamlet on the other side of the lake, where Mariam’s father lived.

The boat had traveled for nearly five minutes when Chacko heard the bellowing.

"Crocodile," some one shouted.

The hunter looked. It was a strange sight, awesome. Big One was fifty yards away keeping pace with the vessel, which was beginning to pick up speed. He kept on roaring. Each time the beast did that he bent like a bow, head and tail above the lake surface. His sharp teeth were clearly visible. Water sprayed into the air from his flanks. When the tail fell back there was more spray.

Passengers were dazed. No one spoke. Mariam glanced at the beast once and started crying silently, clutching the baby to her bosom with one hand and counting rosary beads with the other.

But Chacko was not worried. The beast was unlikely to attack the boat since he had exposed himself. The hunter considered using his gun but it didn’t have the range. He stood quietly, watching the antics of the crocodile that was mocking him in front of all those people. He was glad they were strangers. Nobody from Kadep was on board.

Big One submerged as suddenly as he had appeared. It would be months before he was sighted again.

Chacko left Mariam and the baby at his father-in-law's house. From there, traveling overnight on foot and by bullock cart he reached Kottayam, a trading center for hill produce and estate supplies early in the morning. He managed to get a lift in one of the trucks carrying provisions to the plantations in the High Ranges and by the afternoon reached his destination, the mist-shrouded Windermere Estate. That was where Luka worked.

The man from Kadep was not used to the cold of the hills. That night he sat wrapped in a blanket, drinking rum with his brother-in-law and eating chunks of spicy bison meat. He could not help thinking how much better crocodile tails with its stored up fat tasted.

After a few pegs he explained the purpose of his visit. Luka had mentioned some time back that CF Carlson, the owner of the plantation, was a great hunter who had shot many tigers and elephants. He wanted to meet the Englishman.

Carlson had returned recently from a furlough to Blighty. That was something he had missed for years because of the Great War. Next morning Chacko went to the owner’s bungalow. With Luka translating, he told Carlson all details about Big One except his blunder at the bridge. The white man was interested. He leaned back on a planter’s chair smoking a pipe filled with aromatic tobacco and listened attentively.

When the narrative was over Carlson said, "Never shot a crocodile. But I'll take care of this one."

"No, sahib," Chacko protested quickly. "I must kill Big One."

There was a flash of anger on the Englishman's face. "What the hell do you want then?"

"A gun," the man from Kadep answered. "A gun that can kill an elephant."

"What do you think I am?" Carlson retorted. "A bloody arms dealer?"

"No sahib," Chacko replied with respect. "I want to borrow the weapon."

"Borrow? How do I know that you'll return it?"

"I'm Chacko, the son of Mathai. You'll get the gun back, and the skin."

Carlson laughed.

The crocodile hunter's training in modern guns began the same day. The planter had a collection of weapons. The program started with a .22 rifle. Chacko’s aim and reflexes were superb. Gradually he became used to the weight and kick of weapons, which could drop a charging elephant in its tracks. The practice included quick shooting, fast reloading and firing from different positions. Chacko learned to roll with the gun and come up firing. There were detailed instructions on maintenance of rifles. The safety code in big game hunting was also taught.

Carlson collected information on crocodiles from the Encyclopedia Britannica that he had, and books borrowed from the Planters’ Club library and friends. Relevant points were discussed with Chacko.

Now they had to decide on the weapon to be used. The man from Kadep had already become familiar with different types of guns. The Englishman explained about ammunition. Soft nosed bullets that exploded on penetration caused extensive internal damage. Some hunters preferred it for the first shot and followed up with a non-expanding solid for the kill.

“There won’t be time,” Chacko said, “for a second shot.”

Carlson nodded. Range was not very important here. What mattered was power, and accuracy. He chose a Martini Henry. It was a good gun, which had range as well.

Using his influence with the government Carlson obtained the Kadep area sheet of the classified General Traverse Survey of India Map and spent a great deal of time studying the details. He and Chacko theorized about the possible methods and locations of attack by Big One and the techniques to be used by the hunter to trace the beast. The sahib admitted that crocodile hunting was unlike the big game that he knew, and perhaps more difficult.

The forests always gave useful indicators for a hunter, like spoors, droppings, waterholes, crumbled undergrowth, favorite foods of different species and the locations they were found, predictable habits of animals, scent, weather and temperature. Looking at the greenish ball shaped excreta of elephants, an experienced person could tell not only the direction in which the animals had passed but also the approximate time. When a tiger was on the prowl, birds and the smaller creatures in the vicinity scrambled away. A wounded buffalo was likely to veer away from the herd and circle back to its original track to attack the pursuer. Normally there would be at least a guide and a gun bearer on a hunting expedition. Some hunters waited on a machan, a platform erected at a safe height on trees with a live prey tied below, or when drummers ‘beat’ the forest to drive the animals that way.

Hunting crocodiles was different. These beasts normally searched for prey at night. They could go on for long periods without food and spent many hours of the day resting quietly at some safe haven. Their usual method of attack was to crawl up stealthily within striking distance, rush out at an incredible speed and grab the victim. Sometimes they attacked out of sheer vengeance. Crocodiles were more vulnerable on land and shallow waters. The lake offered them immense cover. It was extremely difficult to get a fix on a wily crocodile like Big One unless it made a mistake.

Soon Chacko’s training was shifted to a stream near the estate bungalow. Live fish, submerged stones and driftwood that floated down the rapids were the initial targets. He learned to judge the deflection of bullets in water, the varying speeds at which objects moved in the current and the sudden changes in their direction. The next step was with green bamboo pieces tied to ropes and placed near the waterline. The hunter was made to walk along the riverbank at dusk. When someone positioned away from the line of fire pulled the string and the bamboo jerked up, he was to shoot. With practice his hit rate improved.

To round up the training, there were instructions on long range shooting as well. In this, gauging the distance and the wind factor carefully and adjusting the gun sight appropriately for straight, upward and downhill shots were important.

Weeks passed and it was early March. One evening Carlson and Chacko were in the drawing room of the bungalow. The sahib was on his favorite leather upholstered chair smoking his pipe. The hunter from Kadep sat on a large tiger skin spread out on the wooden floor. A turbaned butler was mixing whiskey and soda for his master and acting as interpreter.

"In some countries," the Englishman said, "crocodiles were considered evil spirits. But in certain places like ancient Egypt they were revered."

"My people too," Chacko said after a brief pause, "say that Big One has supernatural powers."

Carlson looked at him sharply. "You don't believe that nonsense, do you?" he asked.

The crocodile hunter didn't reply.

Carlson took a sip of whiskey that the butler had placed near his chair. "With all the training,” he asked, "aren't you confident now?”

Chacko was pensive. "Back in Kadep," he answered, "one wouldn't know when, where and how."

"You're right," Carlson agreed. "A hunter's always alone to face the unpredictable.” He drank more whiskey and continued, “Out there in the forest I feel humble. And scared. A hunter is only a small speck in the great scheme of things. He’s an intruder into the fine-tuned mechanism of nature.”

The Englishman took a pull at the pipe and went on, “But sometimes one has to kill. A man-eater, for instance. Or a rouge elephant.”

There was a long pause. Each man was left with his own thoughts.

After a while Carlson broke the silence. "I can give you a job here," he said, "if you like."

"Thank you. But I have to go. Maybe after I kill Big One."

"Yes," the white man agreed. "Go tomorrow."

In the morning when Chacko was ready to leave, Carlson opened two boxes of cartridges. He test fired one from each lot and handed over the rest along with the gun to Chacko. He also presented him a headlamp and an ammunition belt.

Before they parted the white man said, “Remember, Big One doesn’t know the power and range of this rifle.”

To be continued.

BIG ONE and 'BELT' Chacko - 2

He did not panic. An attack on the bridge by Big One was unlikely. The creature could not know whether the man was ready for another shot. Instinct warned Chacko against trying to flee. Crocodiles could run on land with a burst of speed and it was doubtful whether in his given condition he could out pace Big One. He stayed where he was, holding the empty gun and scanning the canal.

The vigil continued till first rays of morning.

When Chacko finally reached home his black and white fox terrier, Nero, rushed out to greet him. His wife, Mariam, was standing on the front steps carrying their two-year old son. The baby was whimpering. She shifted him from one hip to the other and back again.

"Where were you?" she asked sharply.

That was unlike her. Usually she never questioned her husband’s activities. “I tried to shoot a crocodile,” Chacko answered.

"Big One?"

The hunter nodded, wondering how she had guessed.

Mariam's face turned pale and she started breathing heavily. "He escaped?"

"Yes."

"I knew it," the wife went on. "The novena was interrupted for the first time yesterday. The priest's mother died. He went home and didn't return in time."

Chacko did not respond. To him it was a mere coincidence.

"Now we are doomed," Mariam continued hysterically. "Big One is a demon."

"Shut up, woman," the husband said, but not harshly.

After a bath and breakfast Chacko took stock of the situation. He was certain that Big One would strike back. The beast had seen him clearly and would have picked up his scent. It could track him down without much difficulty. But he had no clue to the crocodile's whereabouts. The creature lived in some unknown, untraceable burrow. The conclusion was obvious. The field of battle and the timing of the attack would be decided by the enemy.

Chacko inspected his hunting equipment. There was the old muzzle loader. To hunt crocodiles, one spherical ball was loaded at a time with extra gunpowder to enhance range and power. Then he looked at the harpoons with specially made coir rope attached to them. Chacko could score a perfect hit from fifty feet. As soon as the weapon found its target the line would be secured to the nearest tree. The armory also included thettali, a heavy wooden bow on which metal tipped arrows were used. Another gadget was a piece of iron with anchor-like hooks at both ends. This would be concealed in the carcass of a small animal in the hope that if a crocodile took the bait the metal contraption would get stuck in its throat.

Chacko knew that for Big One it had to be the gun.

Kadep's population became agitated when the news about the confrontation between Chacko and Big One spread. The hunter had concealed the fact that he had provoked the crocodile. The locals believed that Big One was on warpath again because the novena was interrupted, and that Chacko was picked for the attack since the beast's anger against Mathai had not subsided even after three decades. They feared that the wrath of the beast would turn to others as well. The priest was blamed for exposing them to the danger. Some parishioners petitioned the bishop for his transfer.

People were alert and on the look out for Big One. But weeks passed without any sign of the beast. Chacko began speculating whether he had seriously wounded the crocodile. That was unlikely. The pellets could not have penetrated the protective armor on the enemy’s back. One possibility was that both eyes were hit, blinding the beast. That too was doubtful. A more likely explanation was that the creature had gone into hibernation. That was common among crocodiles

Then came the night of the new moon.

Chacko had a habit of going out in the open to urinate before retiring. He normally did this at the base of a slanting coconut palm in a corner of the yard around his house. When he came out as usual on to the veranda that night Nero who had been barking for some time was near the steps, moaning now and blocking the way. That was not unusual. The terrier was prone to get agitated at the slightest provocation. Looking towards the leaning coconut tree that was barely visible in the dim light, the dog started barking again. Chacko ignored him and descended the steps.

Nero jumped out and ran ahead of his master in the direction of the tree, baying frantically. The hunter sensed danger. He stopped instantly, calling back the dog. Moments later he could vaguely see the crocodile detach itself from the lower portion of the leaning palm and fall upon the terrier. There was a pitiful howl from Nero as the jaws of Big One clamped down on him.

Chacko was stunned. The attack had boldness, speed and precision. It had been planned and executed almost to perfection. The hunter had overlooked that crocodiles could recognize and remember the pattern of activity of other creatures.

Recovering quickly Chacko ran inside for the gun. After the encounter at the bridge it was always kept loaded with spherical ball. He came out, lit a torch made of dry palm leaves and searched the courtyard. All that he could see were some marks and a few drops of blood on the sand.

Chacko returned to the house and sat on the front steps, glad that Mariam had gone to sleep. He wanted to be alone. Nero had been like a member of the family. Mariam's brother Luka, who was a clerk at a tea garden in the hills, had given him as a pup five years previously.

Two days later, a middle-aged stranger came to see Chacko. "I'm Ali," the visitor introduced himself, "from across the lake."

"I've heard of you," Chacko said. The Muslim too was a reputed crocodile hunter.

Mariam brought a mat and spread it on the floor. Ali sat down.

“I hunted with your father for a while,” the visitor said. “He was a fine man. Learned many things from him.”

Chacko smiled faintly, but did not respond.

“I heard the news,” Ali went on. “It’s a bad situation.”

“Yes.”

“I can assist you to hunt Big One.”

Chacko looked at the man sharply. It was surprising that someone would volunteer to fight the beast. That took immense courage. But he was piqued as well by the suggestion of help. Did the man think that he, Chacko, son of Mathai, was incapable of handling Big One by himself?

"Send your family away," Ali advised. "I can move in here and we take on the crocodile together."

Chacko remained silent.

“There is,” Ali continued, “no other beast like Big One. At times I wonder whether he is something more than just an animal. I wouldn’t go after him alone. With you, yes. But not with anyone else.”

“Let me think it over,” Chacko replied after a while.

“You are the best hunter in the land. But even you may not be able to tackle Big One by yourself. A back-up shot would be safer. I’m good with guns.”

Chacko did not answer.

The visitor was thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, “Look, I don’t want any money or the credit. Big One has to be killed.”

“Yes. I’ll finish him.”

Ali gave the younger man an appraising look. “I understand,” he said smiling, and left.

Mariam rushed out to the veranda after the visitor was gone. “You should have listened to him,” she said. “Let me take our little Mathai and go to my father’s house for a while. Ask Ali to stay here and help.”

Chacko shook his head. Seeking assistance would mean loss of face. There was no point in explaining that to Mariam. She wouldn’t understand.

Big One returned days later.

He came quietly in the night while Chacko was asleep. The hunter knew about the visit only the next morning when he opened the front door and peered through the soft haze outside.

Nero's skeleton was on the sand near the steps.

Thirty years back it had been Mathai’s remains. That at least had some finality about it. The man was dead, an encounter was over. But the death of Nero was only the beginning of a fight.

For a long time Chacko stood staring at what was left of the dog. Finally he decided to leave the bones to rest where they lay. After making a square brick border with Nero's remains in the center, he fixed bamboo poles in the four corners, tied coir strings connecting them and hung cream colored tender palm leaves all around. Then he drove an old harpoon into the ground, near the skeleton.

Mariam watched from the veranda. "Please," she pleaded, "let's go away."

"No."

“At least,” Mariam kept on, “for the sake of our son.”

“He’ll be all right.”

The woman shook her head. "You're fighting a demon," she said tearfully. "You can't win."

"Keep quiet," the husband said angrily. "No crocodile can defeat me."

Mariam ran inside sobbing.

Chacko could see the well-defined trail of Big One, which was lost in the undergrowth beyond the yard. He knew that the track would lead to one of the nearby canals. There was no purpose in locating the exact spot.

A couple of days later Chacko went to a teashop in the bazaar. It was a thatched structure with two wooden benches on the sand floor and a samovar in a corner. A bunch of ripe, yellow bananas hung from a rafter. The moment Chacko entered, conversation ceased and people stared at him. One of them made the sign of the Cross.

The uneasy silence continued till the hunter was served the strong black tea that he had ordered. Then a customers asked, “Why don’t you go away from Kadep and leave us in peace?”

“If you have no guts,” Chacko retorted coldly, “why don’t you get out?”

There was no response.

“Nothing will help,” and old man stated. “We’ll have problems till next year’s novena is concluded. St. Anthony is angry with us.”

“All of you,” Chacko said, “are being foolish. Big One is after me. No one else is at risk.”

“You can say what you like. The beast is evil. He’ll attack others as well.”

“No,” Chacko said. “Before that I’ll kill him.”

The customers looked away from him. He drank the tea and walked out.

Big One returned again, on Christmas night.

After the festivities, Chacko had gone to bed late. He was awakened from a disturbed sleep by strange noises outside and knew intuitively what was happening. He scrambled up from the mat he was sleeping on and grabbed the gun that was in a corner. Suddenly realizing that the beast could not be seen from his room, he moved to the front door wondering whether Big One was aware of his tactical disadvantage.

He paused. It was quiet outside now. A sixth sense warned him that the crocodile was still there, waiting for him to step out. Going around the back way through the door near the kitchen, was also risky. The hunter didn’t know which way Big One was facing. He could cut through the thatching and get on to the roof, but if the beast were lying close to the outer wall of the house it would be impossible to see him.

The child screamed.

To be continued.

BIG ONE and "BELT' CHACKO

[This is from the special collection of short stories that I have written, but not published yet. The critics, editors and other writers who have read the piece have rated it high. Some have suggested that it is excellent material for a good movie but I have not pursued that angle.

Any way, I thought of sharing it with my readers. Hope you like it.]

It was a fight to the finish between a man and a beast. In a way, it began because of a woman, and birds that came all the way from Siberia to South India. The entire population of the sandy, palm-studded Kadep Island in the Vembanad Lake watched the conflict that lasted six suspenseful months with trepidation. It was clear from the outset that the duel would end only with the death of either or both combatants.

The man was Chacko, son of Mathai. The beast was a crocodile called Big One. A male. He was said to be thirty feet long and weigh about a ton. Chacko was six feet tall and powerfully built. He was thirty-one years old. No one knew the crocodile's age. The creature had been around for as far back as anybody could remember. The man was a famous crocodile hunter as his father Mathai had been before him. Big One had defied many great hunters for decades.

Large saltwater crocodiles and smaller muggers infested the backwaters around Kadep. At night they moved freely from the lake to the extensive rice fields and the several canals and ponds on the island. Apart from fishes and crabs they fed on birds, dogs and calves. Sometimes they killed humans too. The island folk lived with the awareness of danger and were careful particularly after sunset. Many believed that Big One was invested with supernatural powers and was unconquerable.

Once a schoolteacher from the port town of Cochin, who was on a visit to his wife’s house in Kadep, narrated a story about crocodiles. According to him, in the ancient times there was a king in the north by the name of Golden Star. He had only one child, a son who was born with the head of a crocodile and the body of a man. Crocodiles all over the world were descendants of that creature. Bitter that his offspring was an object of ridicule, Golden Star decreed that crocodiles and men would forever be enemies and that there would always be one of those beasts with supernatural powers, which would be invincible.

Many of the villagers, who were unaware that the extremely intelligent reptiles were descendants of dinosaurs, believed the story. Big One was immediately identified as the unconquerable beast that Golden Star had predicted.

But crocodile hunters were tougher and unconcerned about myths. Skin trade offered big money. Dealers in Cochin were willing to buy any quantity. Expert taxidermists processed the hides to manufacture shoes, handbags and other expensive items, which were in great demand in Europe and America.

Big One was the most sought after catch. His skin would fetch a fortune because of the enormous size and the merchants were prepared to out bid each other for it. Even Samson’s, the leading trading house at Cochin was interested in procuring the hide. Their plan, according to market rumor, was to bill the skin as the biggest in the world and to exhibit it in London, Paris and New York where they had business connections.

Then came the death of Mathai.

The man went hunting one evening, and never returned. By next afternoon search parties were organized. They combed every inch of Kadep and the lake, but found no trace of the hunter.

Chacko was one year old at the time.

Four days after Mathai’s disappearance Big One surfaced in the lake. He held a decaying human body in his mouth just above the waterline and paraded up and down the lagoon. Men, women and children watched in horror from the shores. No one dared to interfere. Experienced hunters knew that there would be several crocodiles moving underwater. Because Big One was the dominant male, the other crocodiles had to swim at a lower level.

The macabre exposition continued for three days. On the fourth morning the remains of Mathai were found near the front steps of his house, dumped like garbage. The funeral posed a problem. The vicar of the local St. Anthony’s Church was reluctant to bury the bones in the church cemetery because no one was certain that the skeleton was that of Mathai. Finally he relented.

Thirty years later, another skeleton was to be discarded at the same place.

Even the hunters avoided Big One after that eerie event. The story about Golden Star made the rounds again and yet more people began attributing supernatural powers to the crocodile. In order to protect the islanders, the local parish priest began a nine-day annual novena to St. Anthony the Miracle Worker. It ended on the last Sunday before Advent, when Kadep celebrated the feast of the saint with pomp and pageantry. Apart from Christians, members of other communities also attended the novena.

Crocodile attacks on humans stopped.

Chacko took to crocodile hunting when he grew up. It was not out of any conscious intention to avenge the death of Mathai. The spirit of adventure was in his blood. He liked the thrill and the danger involved, and the money. Besides, crocodiles were the only interesting game left in Kadep.

There had been jackals years back, hordes of them, but they had left the island en masse suddenly. That was a mystery. On a full moon night the entire lot marched to the lake howling continuously, almost in a procession, and swam away never to return. Some people said that the exodus was because crocodiles had killed so many of the animals that their survival on the island was in jeopardy. Others believed that the divine snakes banished them in anger for desecrating the several sacred groves on the island. The woods were hallowed ground for the Hindus who lighted lamps at twilight before the stone idols located inside them and prayed to the serpent gods.

Even as a child Chacko had shown some inherent skills. He was very good with catapult and sling. His aim was near perfect. With one throw he could bring down mangoes from a high branch.

At the age of eleven, while returning home after collecting cashew nuts from trees that grew sporadically, he caught a smell, like tapioca being boiled, and knew that a cobra was in the vicinity. Armed with a forked stick he moved around, alert for the hissing. He located the venomous snake and pinned down its hood with his weapon as it was about to strike. He pulled the reptile by the tail and banged it dead against a coconut tree.

Shortly after that event, which was much talked about on the island, a senior crocodile hunter took Chacko on as an apprentice. Under the man’s tutelage, the boy learned the importance of patience and total alertness. He developed the capacity to wait still and silent for long periods. His power of observation was heightened and his senses sharpened. In hunting, things like a slight rustling sound or a faint odor could be crucial. One had to correctly judge wind velocity and direction, tidal currents, and take into consideration factors like moon phases and their effects on animals, mating seasons and habits, and the vulnerable spots in the prey’s anatomy. A hunter was never to commit himself unless he was certain to score an effective hit. He always had to position himself downwind from the target. Chacko’s intuition, instinct and anticipation improved with training and experience.

By the age of twenty-five, he was acknowledged as the best hunter in the area. He had killed several crocodiles and had earned a great deal of money, which was spent lavishly. But he did not go after Big One. People who were jealous of him said that he was afraid of the beast. That was not true. He simply had no score to settle with Big One. His father apparently had made some mistake and had paid the penalty. In crocodile hunting errors were invariably fatal. Chacko was confident that if he were to ever encounter the beast, there wouldn’t be any slip ups. He was convinced that he was a better hunter than his father had been.

The confrontation between Chacko and Big One began on a November night, a couple of years after the Great War.

With the onset of winter, migrating common teals from Siberia settled in the lake and the rice fields of Kadep, which were flooded after the October harvest when the farmers opened the sluices on the embankments to let in fishes and crustaceans. Chacko often hunted them because they were good table birds.

While returning from such an outing one evening, he saw Janaki emerge from a pond near her house after bath, wearing only a wet loincloth that clung provocatively to her body.

He walked in to her hut.

Everyone in Kadep knew about Janaki. The young widow would receive only men of the upper classes. A few months previously, she had made history as the first low caste woman in Kadep to appear in public fully dressed, covering even her breasts. Wearing a top was a privilege reserved for high caste ladies those days. While Janaki walked nonchalantly to the bazaar in her radical attire, some prominent people of the locality stopped her and forced her to remove the offending garment. It became an open secret that subsequently some of the men who had chastised Janaki began visiting her habitat clandestinely and insisted her wearing the top throughout their visit.

Janaki rushed back and asked the hunter to sit on a mat on the narrow front veranda. She went inside the only room of the thatched hut and reappeared shortly, dressed like a high caste lady.

The hunter gave one look and said sharply, “Take it off.”

The woman was startled. Her hands moved to the sarong.

“Not that,” Chacko’s voice was harsh. His eyes indicated the upper garment.

Janaki nearly tore the blouse in her anxiety to comply. Chastened, she stood shyly, bare breasted now.

The birds in the game bag were given to the cook, an old woman who stayed with the widow. Janaki led Chacko into the room. She opened a bottle of arrack specially distilled with herbs and poured some into an earthen bowl. As the man started gulping the light golden colored liquor, the hostess placed hardboiled eggs and onion and hot pepper chutney before him on a piece of green banana leaf. After a while, the sizzling sound and the pungent smell of the teals being fried drifted into the room from the lean to kitchen.

It turned out to be a long night.

Chacko hardly noticed the scent of jasmine that laced the air from the buds that were opening, when he finally came out of the woman’s habitat. He was groggy and tired. It had been quite a while since he had consumed so much alcohol. The brew that Janaki had served was potent stuff.

As he reached atop the raised footbridge across the canal beside Janaki’s hut, the man noticed a crocodile below. It had probably strayed there attracted by the odor of the teals. Crocodiles had highly developed senses of sight and smell. They could see in the dark, underwater, and because of binocular vision, had accurate depth and distance perception.

In the pale moonlight all that Chacko could see was the top of the beast's head. He lifted the gun, took quick aim and fired. A fraction of a moment too late, he remembered that the weapon was loaded with birdshot.

There was an unearthly growl from down below, like rolling thunder. An immense mass rose from the water with surprising force. The crocodile was not close enough to fling its weight against the wooden structure. It hung in the air for a few seconds and fell back into the canal. Water swirled up the banks and shook the bridge.

Chacko was absolutely sober suddenly. From the enormous size of the creature he knew that it had to be Big One. There could be no other crocodile like that. He had casually provoked the awesome beast. He knew that crocodiles were vengeful and had long memories.

He did not panic. An attack on the bridge by Big One was unlikely. The creature could not know whether the man was ready for another shot. Instinct warned Chacko against trying to flee. Crocodiles could run on land with a burst of speed and it was doubtful whether in his given condition he could out pace Big One. He stayed where he was, holding the empty gun and scanning the canal.

The vigil continued till the first rays of morning.

To be continued.

© Abraham Tharakan.

The Bulldozer - concluding part

“Wait for my signal,” Gopan instructed the sergeant and approached the chief. He met the old man’s gaze, and said commandingly, “The machine will start now. Vacate immediately.”

Village boss looked at him with dignity. He seemed calm and self-assured. “This is our home,” he said. “We are staying.”

“Do you see those men in uniform?” Gopan asked.

“Yes. Why did you bring them? Are you afraid?”

Gopan ignored the slight and said, “They have orders to throw you out.”

The headman silently turned to the villagers and made a sign. In a minute people vanished into their huts. All except one young woman. She stood alone in the morning sun.

Element of surprise was gone. The sergeant wouldn’t like that, Gopan thought.

Suddenly the young man with the chief spoke. “Don’t think we are fools,” he said abrasively. “We know that you want to sacrifice my wife and baby to strengthen your buildings. Kill me instead. But of course, blood of a first time pregnant girl is more effective for your purpose.”

Gopan shook his head. “We don’t require,” he said gently, “any sacrificial blood to stabilize our structures. No body makes such offerings. It’s an old myth without any basis.” After a pause he added, “Get your wife inside the van. We will take her to the hospital.”

The husband laughed, brittle, high pitched. “To all those strangers?” he asked heatedly. “That would make killing easier. And put us to shame as well. In front of all those men and women!” He laughed again.

The sergeant moved near the group quietly.

Exasperated, Gopan continued, aware that he was exceeding his authority, “I’ll arrange temporary accommodation for all of you in an empty storage shed. Even free food.”

“What?” the young villager shouted. “And have my son born in public? Without the presence of our gods and the spirits of ancestors they will surely die, exposed.” He cursed profanely and spat.

The sergeant tugged at Gopan’s sleeve. They walked back together to the bulldozer. The engineer leaned against the machine. “What do we do now?” he asked. “Call it off?”

“That’s for you to decide, Mr. Nair,” the security man replied. “The job has to be done either today, or tomorrow. We could change tactics and proceed.”

Gopan looked at him questioningly.

“Handle chief as before,” sergeant explained. “First two huts have only one male each. A combined total of seven including children. Six of my men will form two teams. Twelve will cordon off the huts in question. Squads dash in, do the flushing, and the dozer moves.”

Gopan had to make a decision. The determination and confidence he had felt when he woke up that morning were fast eroding.

“Others,” sergeant was saying, “are inside their huts with doors closed. Reaction time will be long. Concentrate on first two huts.”

Gopan noticed the headman giving another signal. As he and the sergeant watched, the woman started moving. She was full with swelling of new life within her and walked unsteadily. She stopped at the first hut and leaned against its sidewall, facing the bulldozer.

Gopan was perplexed. “What do we have now?” he asked. “Sacrificial lamb? Or bluff?”

“Could be either,” sergeant replied.

“What do you mean?”

“They know they can’t win. Therefore they want a human sacrifice in atonement for abandoning their ancestors or whatever. In fact, they had special rituals earlier this morning. That’s why those flowers around the idols.”

In the distance, Gopan could see the steel plant rising over the shrubs and trees. When completed, it would be one of the most modern. “Rubbish,” he said. “Then why don’t they attack us?”

“Because many of them could get hurt. Women are expendable, not men. One offering and they can leave their gods and forefathers satisfied and go away with peace.”

Gopan was thoughtful.

“We had,” the sergeant continued, “reported this possibility to DE sometime back.”

In that case I am the sacrificial lamb, Gopan thought.

“It’s also possible,” the sergeant went on, “that our intelligence is wrong. As you said, it could be a gamble. But this situation is better for us. I’ll remove her as well to the van. Other details remain unchanged.”

Gopan wanted time to think. “Very well,” he said. “Brief your men.”

Sergeant quickly moved to the guards and started explaining, drawing diagrams on sand with a stick. The chief, the young man and the woman were observing with rapt attention. There was apprehension on their faces.

Gopan knew that the sergeant’s new plan was good, like the earlier ones. But somebody could get injured. And the old man might have more tricks up his sleeve.

The sergeant was back.

“It’s a bluff,” Gopan said. “I’m going to call it.”

“Well, you’re in charge,” the security man’s response was lukewarm. As an afterthought he added, “But I don’t feel comfortable about that husband guy.”

Ignoring him, Gopan turned to the woman. “Get out of there fast,” he shouted, “or you will kill yourself and your baby. No body will bother much about an accident at construction.”

The woman hesitated and looked towards her husband.

Gopan addressed the driver loud enough for everyone to hear. “Get going. Stop only if I tell you to, no matter what happens.”

The Sikh grinned. Motor was started and the machine came to life. Gopan followed on a side, keeping the woman in sight. The sergeant also went along.

When the bulldozer had gone forward ten feet, inmates of the first hut rushed out.

The gap was closing.

“Don’t cut it too fine,” the sergeant whispered to Gopan.

Time ticked away. The bulldozer was only about ten feet from the woman. The driver was not grinning any more.

“Stop it,” the security man hissed.

Gopan realized with a sickening feeling that the woman was in shock. She could not have moved even if she wanted to. He was about to call it off when someone, perhaps a guard yelled, “Watch out.”

For a moment there was confusion. Gopan heard running footsteps and saw the Sikh driver jolt violently. A thick streak of blood appeared below his right eye. The man pitched forward covering his face with both hands. A sharp, fist-sized stone bounced off to the sand.

Bulldozer seemed to move faster.

Gopan rushed to the machine. He was vaguely aware of the sergeant sprinting past him to the woman. He jumped on to the bulldozer. It was difficult to reach in over the slumped driver. Finally he managed to, and cut off the engine. The vehicle came to a jerking halt with a light thud.

People were shouting. Villagers started streaming out of their huts. Security men immediately cordoned off the area near the bulldozer.

Gopan slid back to the ground in a daze. He walked away, aimless and disoriented. After a few steps he felt dizzy and sat down on the sand. Some guards quickly moved near him to provide close proximity cover. He managed to wrap his hands around the knees and rested his face on them.

There were many noises in the air – shouting, wailing, people talking loudly. They seemed to come from a great distance. Did he hear the word ‘sacrifice’? Gopan was not sure. He thought there was the sound of a vehicle being driven away.

Later, from the haziness, the sergeant’s voice came in clearly, “This man will take you to the Club House. Get a room. Have some sedatives sent over from the hospital and try to rest. I’ll wind up here and meet you.”

Helping Gopan to the Jeep, the security man added, “Couple of sentries will be posted outside your room. That’s the procedure.”

There was no reaction from the engineer.

Late at night, while driving Gopan home after formalities were completed, the sergeant said, “The driver should be hopefully all right. A nasty cut and a broken nose. Lucky he didn’t lose an eye.”

Gopan nodded.

“The villagers,” The security man went on, “moved to Shed 7. GM has sanctioned free rations for them. They’ll be gone in a couple of days.”

Servant maid opened the door for Gopan when he reached home. She looked terrified.

Gopan went straight to the bedroom and switched on the light. Malini was lying awake, staring at the ceiling. He sat on his side of the bed and started removing his field shoes.

Minutes passed. The silence was becoming unbearable.

“It was an accident,” Gopan said all of a sudden. That was the conclusion local police had reached at the inquest. There were no charges against anyone.

“It was an accident,” Gopan repeated, louder.

Malini took a long time to respond. When she finally did, it was as though she was talking to herself. “Nobody,” she said, “will bother much about an accident at construction,”

Gopan knew that she had not repeated his statement sarcastically or with malice. He lay down heavily without bothering to change clothes.

Again, there was Malini’s voice, far away and sad, yet with a tenderness that hurt. “Sorry, I can’t help it. Can’t forget as much as I try. Way that man was crying against her body at the hospital. If only they could have saved the baby.”

Her voice cracked. Gopan knew that her eyes were full. She was like that. Too soft. Too delicate. That man killed them, he wanted to say. But it would not have helped.

Malini turned on her side, facing the wall.

It had been like that ever since – two and a half years!

Standing near the jeep waiting for Malini, Gopan sighed. The steel plant looked solid, massive. They did complete the job on schedule. He was a DE now.

Gopan checked his watch. If Malini did not hurry, they would be late for the flight. There were other plants to build and more schedules to keep. ‘The Bulldozer’ had to carry on.

He took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. As he exhaled, there was a touch on his arm. It was so gentle, so light that it could have been his imagination. He was afraid though to turn around and make sure. He kept staring ahead, wanting that moment and the emerging hope to linger.

“Gopan, the plant looks magnificent,” Malini’s childlike voice filled his ears.

Gopan Nair did not reply. He was thinking how fascinating, like a string of diamonds, distant lights appear when one saw them through misty eyes.

Ends.