With an innocent face, as if nothing had happened earlier, he’d silently sit for his dinner.

The warm bath and the heavy dinner would soon have their effect and he’d be restless to go to bed. He’d stretch out for a bit. When his wives, after feeding the servants, cowherds, siblings, dhobi, barber, and then eating themselves, boiling the milk, letting it cool before setting it for curd for the next day, feeding the cows for the last time, checking if the front door was locked, would finally get to bed, Nayakkar would be gently snoring.

The two sisters would dim the lamp, chew on betel leaves and gossip in general for a while, followed by a couple of yawns and then with sleep-drugged eyes flop on the bed.

At the first cock’s crow, the mother would rise, turn on the lamps, feed the cattle and sit down with her metal mortar and pestle to crush her betel leaves.

At the second crow, the sisters would get up to clean the front yard. That was when Nayakkar would open his eyes and reach for the woman closest to him. ‘Chee, let go of my hand. The sun is up,’ the woman would snap and move out of his reach.

Cursing the sleep that had ruined his plans, Nayakkar would adjust his dhoti and go to clean the cowshed.

And this went on every day, with no change.

26

THE ONE SITTING BESIDE THE sleepy Rangayya, leaning against a tree, is Jalarangan, skimming stones in the irrigation canal. His nose is so turned up that you can look deep into his nostrils. His mother, unable to bear her labour pains, tried committing suicide in the irrigation canal. People of the village spoke for days about her running to the canal at the height of her labour.

The moment she leapt into the canal, she delivered and the second she looked at her child, she wanted to live and not die. She held the newborn high above her head and yelled out, ‘Please, save me! Save me!’ Fortunately for her the water wasn’t too deep and the people were able to save them both.

As he was born in water, he was named Jalarangan.

Kalthozhu Maragadhayya joined the gathering just then. He had no idea about this meeting. He had gone out of town and had returned just then when he heard about the dacoits and rushed over.

Almost all the important people had arrived. There were still some hurrying in from the other villages around, all except the bedridden and aged.

Watchmen kept the children away and the women from crowding around the corpse.

Govindappa asked the watchmen, ‘Have all come in? Who else is left?’ His voice rose strong above the buzzing crowd. The gathering fell quiet once they heard his commanding tone. The meeting was called to order.

Bajanaimada Parthasarathy, sporting a broad namam on his forehead, placed his white staff next to Govindappa Nayakkar. The crowd parted in respect to make way for him. He balanced himself on one of Govindappa Nayakkar’s broad shoulders and chanted aloud, ‘Ramachandra Murthe …’ and sat down. A pleasant scent of camphor surrounded him.