‘Of course,’ they promised.

At once, the grandmother fell unconscious on Uncle. They laid her on the ground. She laid her head on his lap and slept for a long time. When she woke up, the others told her about her being possessed and saying the goddess’s words. My grandmother thought about Chennadevi. She wept silently. God, what a great loss!

Along their trek, they had lost several lives, both young and old. But it was the loss of Chennadevi that shook them the most. Time healed the wound, yet every time they thought of it, the sore did bleed again.

Chenna could not walk even as they were nearing Srirangam. She was throwing up and purging incessantly. They carried her to a choultry near by. That night she had a raging fever.

She had not spoken to anyone for days. She had been torturing herself with silence. That her family and clan were facing such pain because of her, grieved her heart. She had lost her peace of mind. For the past few days her nightmares had scared her.

‘Amma, please stop crying,’ begged Uncle. ‘We cannot bear to see you in pain.’

They could clearly see that Chenna was moving past them. All they were able to do was stare vacantly at the ghost of death.

‘Chenna, my dear, are you leaving me?’ sobbed her mother.

‘No one should cry when death is around,’ ordered the grandmother.

This was not the first time she had said so. Earlier, when Kuruvaiyya’s wife wept when he died, the grandmother had said the same thing. ‘If you cry when a life is just setting off, your tears will flood its path. Its peaceful journey will be obstructed. You can cry after it has left, not while it is leaving.’

Chenna lay with her head on her grandmother’s lap and her lotus feet on her aunt’s lap.

It was just before dawn, an auspicious hour.

A dying person’s face is serene. So was it with Chenna. She opened her eyes and slowly glanced at all of them.

‘As she scanned our faces, her eyes came to rest on me a little intently,’ said Mangaiathaar Ammal. ‘Grandmother chanted a prayer, in a loud voice, to Sriranganathar.

‘“Help me sit up.” These were her last words. Grandmother sat her on her lap, and hugged her close. We kept our eyes trained on her.

‘Her face bright, slowly her head hung low, loose, as if she were fast asleep.

‘Govindappa, how do I say this? Death can make the most handsome face repulsive. But Chenna looked as beautiful as ever, even in her death. We laid her soul to rest.

‘Our thoughts, actions, food, all came to a halt. We knew not what to do. Crowds of people were headed to Srirangam. It was the festival season. We rose and walked along with them.

‘We bathed in the Kaveri, visited the temple. Ranganathan lay peacefully, having fed the world, his head tucked on a wooden pillow.