The Ghosts of Meenambakkam by Ashokamitran

Author:Ashokamitran [Ashokamitran]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789385890826
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2016-02-12T00:00:00+00:00

8

As soon as Dalpathado told me that I couldn’t go home before sunset, I rolled up the lungi in my hand and flung it away. Since that gesture was unexpected, Dalpathado was startled.

‘I am hungry. I must have a bath. First, I have to go to the toilet,’ I said.

‘Let the rain stop for a bit. I will arrange everything. The toilet is right here, outside the house. You might get wet.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Sivanesan signalled his disapproval to Dalpathado. Ignoring him, Dalpathado led me to the first room and opened the door. A spray of pelting rain burst into the room. He found a large carton, the kind pharmacies or grocery stores use to stack dozens of bottles of Horlicks or tonic, and covered my head with it. Draping something like a waterproof jacket over his own head, he led me outside. The rain was pouring steadily. Although I couldn’t see beyond ten feet, I could sense that there was no other human in that area. Along the side of the house was a small room. Other than in the rainy season, the arrangement was unlikely to cause any difficulty. We needed to be cautious about one thing, though: in such places a snake often lay coiled up in a corner.

Dalpathado, too, was getting drenched in the rain as he stood guard over me. I was amused by the high opinion he had of my physical prowess and my sense of independence. Even if he had given me a shove and said, ‘Go!’ what could I have done? I would have again stood huddling by the wall of that house, seeking shelter from the rain. The railway station must have been at least two or three miles away. If someone didn’t take me there, I was not at all confident of finding my own way. Even though Dalpathado was involved in clandestine activities, he still treated me like a friend.

Sivanesan made me another cup of tea. Then he put on a raincoat and stepped out. Dalpathado turned on a small radio. The news was being read out in Tamil.

Disturbed conditions in many parts of the world. The armed forces of a superpower had landed in another country. Hostages had been shot and flung on top of a rubbish heap. New projects for the development of the country’s hill tribes. The government’s special plan to provide drinking water to every village. A top tennis player had beaten another. A third player had vanquished a fourth. Over the next twenty hours, widespread rains were expected in Tamil Nadu. Madras and its environs would receive intermittent rains, with heavy showers on a few occasions.

Turning the dial of the radio, Dalpathado stopped at a station playing Hindi film songs. A thirty-year-old song came on air. We exchanged glances.

‘If it’s a Suraiya song, I’ll drop whatever I am doing and sit down to listen. I will resume only after the song is over,’ said Dalpathado.

‘At one time, she was my favourite singer too. But there

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