‘Go get a white mundu,’ Sankunniyaasan said, turning to the women.

One of them let out a sob and went to open an almirah in another room.

By then, several people had arrived, and they stood around in the room, on the veranda and in the yard, talking, as tradition demanded, in soft voices or saying nothing at all. The deceased man’s son, who had gone into town to buy something, returned, and abandoning his scooter in the front yard, rushed into the room. He looked at his father’s dead body, and turned and looked, with a shocked expression, at Sankunniyaasan. It was clear that the presence of the old man shocked him more than the death of his father, unexpected although he was of advanced age.

‘Vijayan, fetch a white mundu, quickly,’ Sankunniyaasan told the younger man as though they talked to each other every day.

Vijayan was middle-aged, respectable and worldly with an extraordinary sense of humour and patience even amidst the trials of life. He stroked his beard and looked at the deceased for some more time before going in search of the mundu.

When it was brought to him, Sankunniyaasan held it up against the light and examined it. Unfolding it fully, he stood by the side of the bed, and like an experienced fisherman casting his net, he threw it over the body, covering it from neck to feet. As he adjusted the cloth, he looked into Madhavan’s half-closed eyes and curled his lips in a derisive smile. ‘I’ve finally defeated you,’ he said in his mind, and his skin broke out in goosebumps. At that time, those around him were not thinking about the deceased but about what might be going through Sankunniyaasan’s mind.

No one knew exactly when Sankunniyaasan and Madhavan became enemies. There was no point in asking the two people involved. Very few of their contemporaries were left who knew enough about their lives, and their memories were not all that clear. It was also unclear what had caused their enmity in the first place. Enmities usually happen when those who are involved in the same profession or have similar interests encroach upon each other’s advancement. But these two men had entirely different lives and circumstances. Madhavan’s wife remembered that, around sixty years ago, when their marriage was being fixed, a relative had commented that the bridegroom was a good man except for a long-standing dispute with someone that led to court cases and altercations.

This sentiment was known to be true of Sankunniyaasan as well. On the fourth day after his own wedding, he and his wife had set out on the customary visit to his wife’s house. In those days, to reach Harippad where his wife’s folk lived, one had to go by boat, first from Kottayam to Alappuzha, and then to Thakazhi. As he stepped out of the boat in Alappuzha, Sankunniyaasan lost his footing and fell, scraping the skin on his forehead and knees like a child at play. He scrambled up, chucked the towel on his shoulder into the canal, and took himself to Thirumala Devaswam Hospital.