It is quite evident that times have changed a great deal. Those days when the casuarina grove transformed into the park made me feel as if the world was spinning at a greater speed—indeed, spinning out of control. When I think back on it now, it all feels like a dream. But it also feels real.

It is going to be difficult to talk of the events that happened next; describing a tale of devastation in the minutest detail, especially of the tamarind tree, is not a pleasant task. But I have already started, and so I must go on.

5

5.

If a newcomer walked a mile or so past Joseph’s laundry on Asaripallam Road and arrived at the majestic gateway to Ranithottam, he might think that the road ended there. If he had planned to proceed straight ahead, on the northern side, he might see a huge granite wall next to the wide entrance to Ranithottam. This wall resembled a steep hill on which giant children had traced playful designs. Right next to the entrance, on its southern side, was a massive tree, and then more trees. Perplexed that the road had suddenly ended, the newcomer might notice a bus driving past him. When the bus neared the granite wall, the newcomer would be stunned to see that, instead of crashing into the granite wall, it seemed to vanish.

This was because the turn was L-shaped, similar to the angle between the neck and the shoulder. Further ahead, the spirited newcomer might see that Asaripallam Road ran, unimpeded, a long way past Ranithottam. What hid the road from view was the canopy of the trees. Just a short way down that road, there was a big building opposite the grove of punnai trees. This was the bishop’s palace.

If you stood on Asaripallam Road on Mondays or Thursdays at six in the morning, you would see a parade of needy children. These children had been forcibly roused from their beds and thrust out of their homes at that hour, their eyes still bleary with sleep. Torn shirts, torn sweaters, waterproof and fireproof skirts, plaited hair, lice, lesions, boils . . . Some of the kids shunned their underwear in favor of their fathers’ long shirts. Others didn’t find it necessary to wear shirts at all when they abandoned their underwear.

Even the tiniest of these kids would be lugging a large container; there was likely no bigger pot in their household. For two years now, the bishop had been distributing milk to children. Initially, only children from Christian families showed up; other families were afraid it might be a ruse for conversion. They might be poor, but that didn’t mean they would sell their religion for some powdered milk. But after a while, when they saw how hale and healthy the Christian children looked, the Hindus too started sending their kids.