‘Amminiye . . .’ Kuriachan knocked on the door.

Ammini opened the door, rubbing her eyes.

‘Kuriachan chettan . . . Come on in,’ she said, a deep blush spreading across her face.

‘It’s not . . . that, Ammini. It’s . . . chicken . . .’

‘It’s all right,’ she said.

At the exact moment when Ammini took him by his arm to lead him inside, some of those who had followed Kuttachan, armed with sticks and torches, walked down the lane and saw what was happening. Calling Ammini a few choice words, they sent her back inside her house before dealing with Kuriachan. They made him take off his mundu and tie it on his head, and marched him, now dressed only in his underpants, clapping and hooting, to the junction. The task pleased them much more than capturing the escaped animals.

While Kuriachan was on his way to Ammini’s house, his daughter, who did not want to get married and had planned her escape, was making a phone call to her friend. Her friend, an adventurous young man from Thodupuzha, came to pick her up on his motorbike. They had only moved a hundred yards when the cow-buffalo rushed at them and tossed over the motorbike. Arriving at the scene precisely at that moment, the morality enforcers set upon the young man, enraged at the audacity of the outsider. Chased back home, Kuriachan entered the house by the back door while his daughter returned by the front door.

After a long search, Kuttachan came upon the bull-buffalo by a rocky outcrop, but he missed his first shot. Blaming it on the man helping him load the gun, he got ready for a second shot. As though single-handedly facing up to a large army, he silenced the crowd with a long whistle. Crouching down behind a rock, he took careful aim. This time, the shot hit the end of the buffalo’s tail and the animal took off, with a loud snort, down the hill. Destroying the lean-tos behind two houses and the windshield of a car on his way, he disappeared into the darkness. Loud screams emanated from the houses along the way.

Realizing that the number of people following his lead was depleting by the minute, Anthony, meanwhile, tried to cook up new plans. For many years, his routine was to sleep during the day and spend the nights wandering around, so he knew the sounds and stirrings of the dark intimately. Night prowlers had no use for roads, so it was through the compounds of houses that he routinely moved. He had come across many sights, faces, people and creatures in his journeys, but he paid them scant attention. He knew the lay of the land in the dark better than anyone else. Putting this knowledge to good use, Anthony and his men combed through compounds, bushes, deserted firewood stores, cattle barns, and even the outdoor toilets. His companions watched with amazement as he moved swiftly and confidently across terraced agricultural compounds, fences and slippery embankments riddled with foot-trapping holes. Finally, when he came across one of the animals, he had his men surround it, silently and keeping to the shadows. They persuaded it, skilfully and quietly, into the compound nearby. Anthony was familiar with the disused well in the overgrown south-eastern corner of that compound. Herded into that corner by the men surrounding it, the buffalo fell into the well with a terrible roar.