About half a mile to the north of the tamarind-tree junction, if you turned left and walked past St. Joseph’s College and the Kallar pond, you would see the Sri Lankan Pentecostal Mission’s building with its four-foot-high compound wall. The road climbs steeply at this point, rising up to the height of a palm tree in less than an eighth of a mile. At its highest point, just before the road starts coming down again, there is a narrow lane that branches off to the left, running straight as a warp of looms on the weavers’ street before it vanishes under a green gate. That’s the path to the municipal office.

The raddled building behind the green gate, the one that looks like a deranged holy man, is the municipal office building. It once used to belong to Muhaideen Bacha Sahib, who was a close friend of Damodara Asan. In those days, Bacha Sahib housed a few of his wives in this building. The legend was that he employed five or six eunuchs to guard the harem and to do odd jobs around the property. I even heard that one of the eunuchs committed suicide. During Bacha Sahib’s last days, when he lay dying of advanced leprosy in the hospital, this building came up for auction, and the municipality bought it for seventy-three thousand. Even back then, give or take, it was easily worth ninety thousand. But who had that kind of money in those days? It was hard to sell even three sacks of rice for more than three or three and half rupees.

It was in the shed behind this building, which once used to be a stable for Bacha Sahib’s horses, where the municipal council now held its meetings. But there was no need to look down upon it simply because it used to be a stable. After the municipality took over, it got a new roof thatched with palm planks and had its walls plastered and whitewashed.

Now, on the fateful day of the failed tamarind-tree auction, Valli opened the gate and entered the premises. His helper followed him before turning around to latch the gate. Startled, he shouted: “There’s a big crowd headed this way!”