Then I heard a commotion behind me. A brisk crowd from Keezhacheri was headed in my direction. One of the men was balancing a long ladder on his head. A man in the front of the crowd and a man at the back were carrying a plantain tree each. Ahead of everyone was a little boy leading the way, carrying a lantern, alternately walking and running despite his limp. They were clearly headed to retrieve Chellathayi’s body. As soon as they saw me, someone yelled, “Who’s there?” I spun in circles twice right on the spot, clapped my hands over my head loudly, and ran zigzag, shouting all the while. They just laughed at me and went their way.

From there I headed straight to the clock tower and stopped for tea at bowlegged Shanmugam’s shop—you know Pechi’s son from Erachakulam? I finished my tea and was on my way home, smoking my cheroot, when I saw Koplan the priest hurrying ahead of me. His thick curly hair stood straight up over a foot above his forehead. Streaks of holy ash covered his body. A large vermilion mark shone on his forehead. On his waist, he wore a veshti in garish red silk. And he held an axe over his shoulder. I could tell from the way he walked and the crazed look in his eyes that he was up to no good. I followed him discreetly.

You see the kinds of disruptions that keep a man from getting a decent night’s sleep? What can I do? It is my fate. The policeman who draws a regular salary gets to sleep comfortably on a canopied bed every night, his arm over his wife next to him. But I am supposed to roam around at night, keeping watch! I am supposed to catch the thief, stop the smuggler, and intercept the runaway girl and get her back home. It is on me to catch the coconut thief in the act or spy on the local big shot who drapes a shawl over his head and frequents the alleyways! The kinds of sordid tasks that fall on me! But what can you do? All you can do is to think of it as your fate and go along.

Koplan suddenly vanished into the casuarina grove. I looked toward the pond. The scene I witnessed there is still etched in my mind. The ladder came floating along in the water, like the temple float at the Suchindram festival. On it, Chellathayi lay stretched out. Near her head was balanced a lighted lantern. And the bad-legged boy sat close by with a look of sheer terror on his face. It was a pathetic sight, I tell you.