Varky’s family acquired the nickname ‘Kaalan’ not because Kaalan, the God of Death, rode on a buffalo, or because they were gods of death to the buffalo. The name was bestowed on them because of a peculiar physical characteristic: their ‘kaalu’—legs—that were extraordinarily long, and seemed to sprout right from underneath their armpits. Even today, if he went down the hills into Pala, Varky would have no difficulty recognizing his relatives. From two-year-olds to ninety-year-olds, all of them walked with long steps on their astonishingly long legs. It became customary for neighbours to question the paternity of any long-legged child that was born in the vicinity. Despite the persistent stink of blood, Varky, in his youth, had been quite adept at wooing women, an ability he retained even now as an older man. His liaisons were usually in houses which had four panes to their front doors. Interested women who wanted to invite him in would leave the top two panes unbolted from the inside at around 3 a.m. Varky would open them quietly, swing his long legs over the bottom panes, and enter the house to quickly do the deed and get to the shop in time for the day’s slaughter. When the husbands of his paramours came to buy meat, Varky gave them extra pieces of fat and offcuts for free, and the unsuspecting men grew plump on these offerings.

Things became critical when one of the escaped buffaloes kicked over a small fire someone had lit to keep themselves warm. The sparks set fire to a haystack and a barn. The news spread far and wide with the flames and the smoke. Someone said that the bull-buffalo had gored five people and killed one of them. Another story spread that a whole herd of buffaloes had escaped, and they were vengefully attacking humans. Women hugged their children tightly and cowered behind bolted doors while the braver of the men ran out to join the efforts.

After a breakfast of vellayappam and karimeen mappas, Kuriachan was watering the plants and hanging the new, still wet rubber sheets from wire lines to catch the morning sun when he heard the commotion. He did not open the front gate, but pressed his considerable paunch on it and looked into the lane. A large crowd chased after an animal, some bellowing with grave expressions on their faces, and others excited as though they were taking part in a celebration. One of them peeled away from the crowd and prepared to sit down to urinate beneath the curtain of passion flower vines hanging off the boundary wall. Kuriachan beckoned him.

‘Who are you? What the hell is going on?’

‘Kaalan Varky’s buffaloes have gotten loose, a female and a dangerous bull,’ the man said as he finished his business. ‘Don’t open the gate.’ He took off after the crowd, leaving Kuriachan in a state of anxiety.

Kuriachan was the first person to start cultivating rubber in the area. Many years ago, when he planted rubber seeds on his land and brought people from the rubber board to help bud the saplings, the elders in the predominantly Christian community who toiled day and night under the steam of dried fish and day-old kanji had found it hilarious.