Morbidity in the Mundane — Chitragupta — 2
From previous,
The protagonist, Poongodi finds a strange book which contains the names of all villagers. When one of the named villager dies, confused and worried, she becomes suspicious of the village accountant, Chithran.
The first part of the story can be found in this link —
The next few days, I was on Chithran Uncle watch. After school, I’d quickly finish my chores and then tail him, in the hopes of getting to that strange book in his desk. For the first couple of days of this routine, I had no luck. And then, Fortune smiled upon me unexpectedly.
I stood outside my Aunt’s house, fidgeting restlessly, waiting for her to give me coriander leaves that Amma had told me to collect. From the house nearby, I could hear voices that sounded vaguely familiar. As they neared, I was finally able to place them. It was Chithran Uncle! He must have had some work here. I peeked around the corner as the adults vanished into the house. The hand desk was sitting outside, innocuously by their gate. I looked around furtively and then scurried to the desk. Whipping out the notebook, I noted that there was a pen stuck in its middle. Turning the pages to where the pen was kept, trepidation trickled down my throat. Who is going to die next? Who is he going to kill? Wait.. this is my page!!
The pen was placed next to my name on the page. Beneath it, now, there were five blue lines and four red ones. ‘Four red ones. Why did I get one extra line?’ I thought. Bewildered, I kept turning the pages.
Stopping on a particular page, my heart stuttered like the TVS motorcycle that Appa rides. The name Arivazhagan had been crossed out in black ink smudged across the page. In stark contrast to Thanammal Grandma’s page, his page was dominantly in red.
‘Oh god! Oh god!, Arivazhagan is going to die!’ I thought, scared out of my wits. Before I could snoop more, my aunt called out “Poongodi, Poongodi!”
Dropping the book, I ran out to her.
Arivazhagan. The village tailor Vijaya auntie’s son. A pervert who dropped out of school, he was someone I avoided at all costs. ‘How?! How am I going to warn him of this?!’ I agonized as I completed my errands. Gathering all of my courage, I set off to Vijaya auntie’s house to see if I can catch Arivazhagan there. Too late; Chithran Uncle was already sitting on their balcony, drinking varakaapi with Vijaya auntie. My heart dropping down to my slippers, I turned heel and ran back home before either of them could notice me.
That night during dinner, I could no longer keep this as a secret. I burst out, “Arivazhagan is going to die!” Both my parents stared at me in horrified surprise, while my brother facepalmed. “Child! Do not throw around sentences with Death so casually” Amma scolded. “It’ll be good riddance” muttered Appa. At Amma’s glare however, he said gruffly out loud, “No one is going to die, Poongodi. Finish your food and go to bed.”
The next two days, nothing happened. Arivazhagan roamed the streets being a general nuisance to all.
On the third day, he disappeared. The entire village was thrown into an uproar. Search parties were sent to scout the rice fields and the canals. On the fourth day of his disappearance, Appa walked into the dining room with a grim face. With a hesitant look at me, he said, “Well, we found Arivazhagan.” At my excitement, he winced. “More appropriately, we found his body in a well. He must have fallen in” Appa finished.
I gaped in horror. Amma threw her arms around my shuddering body. No…No… I let another murder happen..
The next day, with our arms laden with pink flowers, we left to Vijaya auntie’s house to offer our condolences. Most of the village was already there as we made our way deeper into her house. Sitting against the wall, with a grieving face same as those around him, was Chithran Uncle. Anger flooded my head, making me dizzy. ‘How dare he?! How dare he kill this very boy and sit here as if to mourn him?’ I thought furiously. I opened my mouth to convict him, to make him suffer, to wipe that smug smile of his face. Before I could tell anything out loud, my brother caught my hand and slightly shook his head.
I stared at Vijaya auntie sobbing over her dead son and thought about the rows and rows of gifts from Thanammal Grandma sitting in our storeroom. ‘It’s not fair. They are dead. Gone without a chance at life. He does not get to go free like this!’ I thought, tears filling my vision. I couldn’t keep this a secret any longer. I had to tell. I had to let everyone know.
I swiveled around to face Chithran Uncle, yelling at him through a clogged throat, “Murderer! You vile murderer! You killed him. You killed both of them!” I remember the stunned faces of all the villagers surrounding us, the expressionless visage of Chithran Uncle before Appa gathered me into his arms and walked us away from Vijaya auntie’s death-struck house.
Though nobody took my words seriously, the damage was done. People began to whisper about Chithran Uncle behind his back. Rumors arose on finding two sets of foot marks around the well. Seemingly like a scuffle, it caused people to believe that Arivazhagan was pushed in. Stories of finding a white powder akin to the rat poison used in the granaries, in the dregs of the copper tumbler that Thanammal Grandma used, surfaced. With such tales questioning his authenticity, thus ruining his reputation, Chithran Uncle started to pack to leave the village for good. When I heard this, I felt immensely relieved. A thousand rice filled jute bags were lifted from my chest. Before he left, he visited all the houses of those who had employed his skills, expressing his gratitude for their help. As a result, he came to our house the last. After conversing with Appa and finishing the varakaapi, snacks Amma plied him with, he got up to leave. As per tradition, it is customary for elders to bless the children by marking their foreheads with the sacred ash called Viboothi. Big brother fetched the container with the Viboothi and stood patiently as Chithran Uncle swiped his thumb over brother’s forehead, reciting the usual blessings. Then, Amma pushed me from where I had been hiding behind her Sari to stand in front of Chithran Uncle. He turned to me and paused with ashy fingers.
“You are a clever, clear-sighted girl Poongodi” he said silkily, brown eyes glinting gold, the same gold as the pen in his front pocket. “In my remembrance, I would like you to have my hand-desk” he said gesturing to the shiny brown table behind me. I nodded, trying to swallow down my nerves and fear.
He bent down to my height to anoint my forehead with the sacred Viboothi powder. His voice dropping in volume such that no one else in the room could hear, he continued “One day, I will come back to reclaim this from you.” A slow smile crept onto his face wrinkling the crow’s feet at his gleaming eyes. Straightening back up, “Well, I’ll be off now. May Lord Shiva bless you on your journeys!” he exalted loudly. With that sonorous blessing, he left. That was the last I would see of Chithran Uncle.
“Wasn’t it nice of him to leave our Poongodi his desk?” said Amma cheerily trying to dispel the gloom that had settled over us. “Yes. Very nice. If only he could have left me his accounting skills too” grumbled Appa. “Look, he even carved your name onto it!” cried my snooping brother. I walked over to the desk and sure enough, on the top right corner, scrawled out in neat letters was my name. Despondent for some reason, I stuck my hand into the small compartment. There was nothing there except for a sheet of paper. I pulled it out and with my fingers shaking, I smoothed out the torn page. Written on top of the page was my name. Poongodi. Beneath it were five blue lines. These were followed by,
Five red ones.
“Grandma? Grandma! Stop dreaming!” the piercing voice of my grand-daughter shook me from the Past. “Homework now please?” she said pouting at me over her notes spread out on the desk. “Ah yes. Of course. Let’s work it out now” I said. We diligently worked on her homework until the drizzle outside stopped. With the work completed, we sat on the balcony enjoying the aftermath of the rain. The cloying scent of Jasmines filled the air. “Grandma! Do you know of the secret I discovered on this desk?!” my granddaughter said in a harsh whisper. “Secret? Ooh, tell me” I replied indulgently. “I found the name of the person who this desk belongs to” she stage-whispered pointing to the top-right corner of the small table. I turned to where she was pointing and all the air in my lungs were sucked out. I couldn’t breathe. Fear clogged my throat and cold dread dropped like rocks into my churning stomach. The corner no longer held my name. Instead it was inscribed with something else.
Chitragupta.
Chitragupta — Accountant. Bookkeeper. The God of equality.
In South Indian lore, Chitragupta is a minor god who sprang from a drawing (Chitram) made by Lady Parvathy, the divine consort of the Destroyer, Lord Shiva. Keeper of Karma, he is said to have an account of all the sins and good deeds made by a human being in their lifetime. Based on their final tally, he decides if one goes to Heaven or Hell. People pray to him, to absolve their crimes and to give them good luck in their endeavors. Benevolently ruthless, He is no creature to be meddled with.
