Many asked him to buy them such a basket, and he would respond with, ‘When I go to my town next, I will get you one.’ But so far, he had not brought back a basket for anyone. He never refused such requests outright, and when people reminded him or pressed him further, he simply said, ‘But I have not gone home yet.’ If they asked, ‘Do you mean you have not gone back home in years?’ he would reply, ‘When I do go, I don’t seem to remember about the basket.’ At times when he was in good spirits, he’d say, laughing, ‘These baskets are specially made and are protected by the chanting of holy words. This is the basis of my whole business. If I buy you such a basket and if you too start wearing it over your shoulders and setting out on business, what will I do? I will lose everything! I will have to spread this towel over my head and sit in a corner somewhere!’

He went from homestead to homestead buying eggs after carefully selecting them. He never tired of walking. As soon as one of his two baskets filled with eggs, he would deposit it safely with someone he knew and set out again to fill the other one. He left the area only once both baskets were filled. Without cramming them in, he could keep up to a hundred and twenty eggs in each basket. If he managed to fill the baskets in two days, his joy knew no bounds. He would then go from Senkundroor to Malayappatti and, by nightfall, have the eggs safely dispatched by bus to Tholur, where they were collected upon arrival. Meanwhile, Bhai Anna would return to the village the same night with his empty baskets.

Sometimes it was midnight by the time he reached the rock, which often prompted Marayi to comment, ‘Bhai Anna always comes like a night owl.’

He would spread the contents of his food parcel on the rock, saying, ‘If I miss the last bus for the night, I’d have to stay there until the morning. That’s why I packed parottas for the way.’ And he would offer some to Kumaresan.

Marayi declined to even touch any of it. ‘If we get used to the flavours of kurma and kozhambu from restaurants, we will lose our taste for home-cooked food.’

‘Marayamma,’ Bhai Anna would respond, ‘I’d have to starve if I didn’t eat food from the shops.’

Kumaresan always ate the parottas with great relish, smacking his lips. Sometimes Bhai Anna would let him eat all of them, and would instead eat the pap from Marayi’s kitchen. On days when Marayi made meat, Bhai Anna simply went without food.

Bhai Anna went to Tholur once every two or three months and stayed there for a week or ten days. In the villages where he bought eggs, he’d tell people, ‘It will be a week before I return. At least now feed your children some boiled eggs. Don’t go selling them elsewhere!’