After it was published in the newspapers that coolie Ayyappan had been stabbed to death and that he had poisoned the tree, hundreds of people gathered at the tamarind tree. The devotees called in healers, who tried their best to administer urgent medicinal remedies to break the effects of the poison coursing through the tree. Many of these devotees did not leave the spot for hours.

There was no visible change in the tree on the first day. But by the next morning, it was clear to everyone that a dire transformation had occurred during the night. Lots of leaves had fallen. The lower branches were almost bare. In just a few days, even the smallest twigs had shed their leaves, and the tree stood completely naked. On the fourth day, a healer came and examined the tree by stripping a piece of bark from the trunk. No sap oozed out. “The tree is dead,” he declared.

There were nearly five hundred people standing around the tree at the time. As soon as the healer pronounced the tree dead, an elderly devotee jumped up as if he had entered a trance; he ran toward Khader’s store in a frenzy, where he picked up a fistful of earth and threw it against the store’s locked doors, screaming curses all the while. A mob followed him and threw stones at the doors. They then broke the shutters, rushed into the store, and tore the place apart. The store was set on fire. But the damage was minimal, because the police and the fire service arrived at the scene almost immediately. Since the rioters did not disperse despite repeated warnings, the police had to resort to the use of batons.

After this, fights broke out in different parts of town. We heard that some Muslims had been attacked in Kottar. From the news we kept receiving, it looked as if terrible communal violence was about to break out. The state imposed a curfew. But the very night the curfew came into effect, a gang of students attacked the office of the Travancore Nesan. Isakki was away at the hairstyling salon at the time, so thankfully he didn’t get hurt.

In those weeks, police vans rushed through the streets every few minutes, their sirens blaring. Sepoys armed with batons stood guard at the junctions. It was nearly two weeks before the town returned to normal.

The tamarind tree at the junction stood wilted and desiccated. It was dead. Only its carcass remained, waiting to be hauled out. Any minute, a woodcutter might show up and start chopping the tree without drawing much attention from anyone.

It was no longer a tree, no longer a deity. Just a corpse.