‘In that case, better make sure there’s a big enough tree in your own yard,’ one of the woodcutters retorted, making everyone laugh.

The woodcutter pushed at the tree with his hand as though checking its strength. They began discussing, as they were wont to do in the houses of the newly deceased, the differences in funeral rites in various lands.

‘Mango wood is best,’ one opined. ‘It has a sap that burns quickly.’

If that was the case, why not use rubber wood, someone said, annoying the whole group. Another person informed them that kings were cremated in pyres of sandalwood, and swamis and bishops were buried in a seated position.

The person who was to lead the rites and rituals the next day was an old-timer, a reactionary who refused to use a mobile phone. A young man, with hair that was combed to a sharp point gazing at the sky and pants that hung way below his waist, started his motorbike to fetch him. Without asking for permission, Sankunniyaasan plonked himself behind him on the motorbike. Having experienced a traumatizing glimpse of the extent of the enmity between Madhavan and Sankunniyaasan only a week before, the young man tried his best to get him off, but to no avail.

The incident had taken place in front of the paan shop in a building with a tiled roof and a row of rooms at the small junction. As people living in the same community, there were occasions when Sankunniyaasan and Madhavan could not avoid being in each other’s presence or engaging in conversations with their mutual acquaintances. When such situations arose, each one behaved as though the other was not present, carefully avoiding eye contact, while the other people present avoided, equally carefully, subjects that were of interest to either of them and only talked about general issues.

The lean-to behind the paan shop was where a group of older people played cards. The owner of the paan shop, who was unlucky enough to have lost his leg in a vehicle accident, was the organizer of the games, which were essentially just a way to pass time, where the wagers were so small as to not hurt anyone’s pockets. The players sat in a circle on gunny sacks and newspapers spread on the broken and pitted floor. The lean-to was empty except for a couple of sacks of fertilizers meant for the paddy fields nearby, and an old aluminium barrel with a tap left behind from the arrack trade. Madhavan was a regular at these games while Sankunniyaasan took part once or twice a month. On the occasions when both were present, they sat frowning at their cards without joining in the jokes or laughter. If the group took out a collection for a round of drinks, one of them would quietly withdraw and walk away. This state of affairs went on for years, and in all that time, no one had seen them talk to each other or quarrel publicly.