When he rushed off, the brothers shared a proud smile.

Govindappa Nayakkar told his brother to consult with the village elders before going to fetch the thief. After Krishnappa left, Govindappa once again felt inside the nut box for five nuts and got them. Kali is on the rampage, he thought to himself.

The village was restless. Everyone seemed anxious. No one could predict what would happen next.

One day Govindappa Nayakkar was chewing on his betel leaf and tobacco, and sewing banyan leaves into plates. This was when banana leaves were not yet popular. On the day they ended their fast for Gopalla, people would eat off leaf plates stitched with corn needles. On ordinary days, they’d eat off only a plate or a bowl. Govindappa Nayakkar thought sewing leaf plates was a pleasant pastime. He even kept his left thumbnail long and sharp to tear off corn needles.

He’d ask Oorkudumban to fetch good, lush, broad banyan leaves. He could sew them in different patterns.

He’d sew with his eyes shut, then open them to view his handiwork. Sometimes he’d imagine that both his eyes had gone blind, or his brothers had deserted him, or that he’d become poor and was orphaned and he had to sell these leaf plates for an income, and he would shed tears of self-pity and sew. Then he’d correct his fantasy. Of course he was not poor or orphaned. No! For pity’s sake, no! And if he did become poor, would he still keep Oorkudumban on the pay roll? This made him chuckle. Who else but Oorkudumban could climb up the banyan tree and pluck the leaves?

He wiped away his tears and looked around. Thank god, there was no one around to notice. He was about to close his eyes and begin another fantasy, when Oorkudumban arrived. He had come with information that bandits with burning torches were planning to raid the village.

‘How many more times will they come?’ asked Govindappa with a guffaw.

‘True, this news has come many times before,’ answered Oorkudumban. ‘But what if they attack when we are not prepared?’

‘Sure!’ responded Nayakkar. ‘Doesn’t hurt to be cautious.’

He shut his eyes and thought hard.

And then he said, ‘There are several paths to this village. If only we knew which path they are taking, then you could handle them on your own. We don’t need this village’s help.’ When Oorkudumban heard the heartfelt praise from the Kottaiyar, he blushed red.

While they were chatting, Akkayya came in. He was a relative of the Kottaiyars, slightly short, around forty—but one could only guess his age—a bachelor, round-eyed, like a fish, he had a tiny bun high up on his head. He always wore a long veshti and except for the time when he was working, he had a top cloth around his shoulders. The women of the village found him ever so funny. He’d walk with his heels held high, his toes scraping the ground.

Govindappa Nayakkar was younger than him, but Akkayya still referred to him respectfully as ‘Mama’. He too worked in the Kottaiyar house.