Moothapillai was not offended by any of this. He assumed that the crowd was in fact laughing at Sahib’s hasty bids.

“Going once . . . going twice . . . going twice . . .”

Sahib was beginning to feel angry. “Thirty-two rupees,” he struck back, a little too loudly. The crowd was stunned. A dozen or so bidders backed out.

This was the most crucial moment. At this point, Sahib’s bid had come close to the previous year’s price. Everyone looked toward the carriage, eager to see what Moothapillai’s driver would bid next. But what emerged from the carriage were two eczema-afflicted legs and a walking stick. Nagaru Pillai jumped from the front of the carriage and came to Moothapillai’s assistance.

Holding his doubled-up veshti in his left hand and leaning on Nagaru Pillai’s arm, Moothapillai crossed the cement road and walked toward the tamarind tree. At Valli’s insistence, he took a seat at the stool. He raised his head and studied the tamarind tree carefully. A snicker rippled through the crowd. Sahib looked around at everyone in smug satisfaction. He only needed one look at the tree to make his decision; he wouldn’t be caught dead looking at it again.

“Son-in-law, tell me, who made the last bid? How much was it?” Moothapillai asked Valli.

Municipal employee Valli’s first wife was Thazhakudy Moothapillai’s neighbor Aachi’s cousin’s sister’s daughter. The crowd had no way of knowing this connection. Now, after hearing Moothapillai’s address of endearment to Valli, they couldn’t help but wonder how close these two were.

“It was Sahib who bid last,” Valli replied. “Thirty-two rupees.”

“Is that so? Why not? He makes money every time the sun shines,” said Moothapillai.

People laughed with great delight at the joke. Many in the crowd knew that Sahib owned several salt pans.

The helper raised his voice again. “Going once . . . going twice . . . going twice . . .”

Moothapillai said calmly, “Thirty-two rupees and one chakram.”

The youngsters roared with laughter. The older folks still said, “My God! You can’t beat him, can you?” But there was no change in Moothapillai’s facial expression. He sat there still like the main deity in a temple.

Today, the day of the auction this year, Valli just stood there, reminiscing about past years and chuckling to himself.

Moothapillai was nowhere to be seen. Where was Sahib? And Konar only lived a stone’s throw away. What had happened to him too? And whatever had happened to the crowds that used to gather to watch the fun?

Just then he heard someone address him: “Annachi, brother, can you come here, please?” He turned to see Dhamu standing inside his shop and signaling to him. Dhamu was a shopkeeper who owned the general store right under the tamarind tree, opposite Abdul Khader’s famous stationery shop.