All the characters in this story are above 18 years of age
The windows slammed with a noise that would have woken the dead, but Shreya did not flinch. She sat unmoving with her back against the brick wall, staring at a lantern that hung from the ceiling. The labored breaths of her son, Unni, could be heard, but she dared not look in his direction. She couldn't bear it anymore.
Outside, the rain pounded on the tiny village of Chattakood. It's been like that for two months. Shreya shifted her eyes for a moment from the lantern to their thatched roof. The rain and the winds had taken their toll. The roof was now full of leaks. Buckets and cups were placed at strategic positions on the floor to collect the water.
Unni coughed in his sleep. Phlegm gurgled in his chest like the giggle of a reaper. Shreya did not look. Only last week was he out in the fields helping his father plough the fields. A tear ran down her cheek and wet her blouse.
There was not a single doctor in the village.
WAIT. That's not true.
Chattakood did have doctors. The ones who make medicines out of leaves and goat shit. But it did not have any real doctors. For that, you needed to go south, to the town. But the rain and the accompanying landslides had made travel impossible. The only other way to the town was through the jungle, and that was the way Shreya's brother went, risking his life, no longer able to bear the wailing of his dear sister. That was twelve days ago, and Shreya was beginning to lose all hope.
There was one hope left. Shreya doesn't see HIM as a source of hope. But that's how her husband saw it. That's why he went out to get HIM. And he'll be back any minute now.
It was HIM who started it all. HIM when he visited their village some two and a half months ago. But if you ask the people of Chattakood, they would say that the fault was Shreya's. And that she had no right to question his 'powers'.
Shreya taught mathematics and science at a local school in Chattakood. They had classes starting from kindergarten to middle school. Her education was the supreme power she held over the others in Chattakood.
She was the only one in the village with a higher secondary education. Shreya made it her mission to rid the village of superstitions and pass around her 'abundant' scientific knowledge. Even the elders called her 'teacher', though only some meant that respectfully.
On Shreya's side of the bed, there was a large stack of books on everything science related. Huge tomes with hard covers with pretty atoms and galaxies gleamed in the yellow light of the lantern. One might mistake her for an avid reader, but if one were to look closely, one would notice that the books were covered in dust, and none of the pages had a single wrinkle.
They came in the night. Her husband and HIM.
There was the sound of a bike stopping outside. And although she was lost so deeply in her thoughts that the sounds of the world outside were nothing but mere background noise, she rose with a start and rushed to her front door.
He stood dripping on her carpet, looking like a vagrant who had wandered in to beg for food. His lidded eyes seemed to be taking mental photographs of her home. She hated his eyes. Godmen usually have lively eyes. A charm, a certain charisma, but he had none of them. His eyes were dead, and it was a wonder that he had the number of disciples that he had. When his eyes saw her, however, there was a certain glow in them that disappeared as soon as it came. Just like that day.
A few months back, the godman had visited their village. He called himself Guruappa. No one knew his real name. No one knew anything about him before his 'ascension as a diety'. But all agreed that he had powers, which, according to him, was a result of distancing himself from all worldly pleasures. Now he was devoid of all sorts of desires. Even sexual desires.
That day, the entire village participated in making preparations for his arrival. People were running around with festoons and banners. Women swept the streets and laid flowers. Tarpaulin tents were built and chairs were laid out.
That day, Guruappa performed a miracle where he made a lame man walk. This is where the doom that befell Shreya's house originated -- at least that's what the villagers say. Shreya saw before her the physical manifestation of everything she was trying to eradicate, and she shouted: "How do we know for sure that he was lame before? I think this is all one big drama."
Fifteen days later, Unni fell ill with a fever that refused to break.
And now he stood in her doorway, with the same beard that reached his belly where it was tied with a hairband, with the same black turban, with the same face that had so much hair that only his eyes and nose were visible.
Shreya's husband, Keshav, entered through the front door wet to the bones, with an umbrella that was inside out and canopy-less. He had been gone for almost a day. "My son is through here, Guru," he said, urging the godman to follow him.
The lantern flickered as the godman made his examinations. He had instructed them to stay outside, with the air of a medical doctor, frigid and toneless. "I found him in Chiloor, luckily, doing another one of his visits," Keshav was filling her in. "It didn't take much convincing. I told him of our son's condition and he hopped on his bike readily. Told his disciples to continue the sermon."
Guruappa felt Unni's forehead and his chest. Shreya knows what he must have felt. The fever had gotten so bad that one could make an omelette using his forehead as a pan. The examination took a total of fifteen minutes. When it was done, Guruappa got up from the bed, watched the boy's labored breathing for a few seconds, then walked out of the room and past them.
It was dark outside. Shreya did not even know the time. Must have been three or four in the morning. Guruappa was standing in their living room. Some of the water from the streets had swept into their home, and the godman's thinking face reflected in the pool under his feet. Keshav gazed at him eagerly, and reverentially. The godman did not speak, which, as Shreya understood, was for dramatic effect.
"Can you cure him, Guru?" asked Keshav.
He turned to them, rippling the water, with the same dead, lidded eyes. "Yes," he said softly.
Shreya heard Keshav letting out a sigh as if he had not breathed all this time. She was still skeptical. "Thank you, Guru. Thank you," Keshav knelt before him on the wet floor.
"But I need your cooperation," the godman continued.
"Anything you want, Guru," said Keshav, raising joined hands over his head in a display of deference.
Giving a satisfied nod, the godman paced about the room. "The way I see it, your wife, is the one responsible for your boy's condition."
"What?" Shreya said, feeling offended as she should be. Day and night she's been by her son's bedside, and he has the audacity to... Her husband made a face at her, urging her not to question him again. She crossed her arms over her chest and shut her jaw tight, anger boiling up within her.
"You were saying, Guru?" Keshav said.
Guruappa stood unconcerned. Like her taking offense was unimportant. "I feel strange powers at work here. I feel hate... intense hate..." the godman clicked his tongue and moved his head from side to side. "Anyways, I don't see any other way."
Perplexed, Keshav showed the godman his open hands. "I... I don't understand, Guru. What exactly do you want us to do."
"I'll take care of it. Tell her to accompany me tomorrow to my ashram," he said.
He wants me to what? I'm standing right here
, Shreya wanted to scream, but she stayed quiet for the sake of her husband.
"But... but Guru? Is this really..." Guruappa raised a finger. Keshav joined his palms and held them to his mouth. The godman moved about their living room, and finding a dry spot at one corner of the room, laid down.
Keshav had the rest of the night to convince Shreya to go to the godman's ashram. Theirs was not a big house, and there were not many rooms. They sat beside the phlegm-muddled breathing of their son, on two plastic red chairs, arguing. From the living room, intermittently, the snores of the godman were heard, and Keshav cringed every time as if he feared that Guruappa will hear his wife's 'nonsensical' objections.
Shreya believed that the godman had some ulterior motive in inviting her. But her husband insisted. "I've always been on your side. Whenever you've started a debate at the grocery shop, pitting the beliefs of others against your science, I've been on your side. Always. Even though I was out of my depths and didn't understand a thing. I'm asking you to do this one thing. You don't believe... you don't have to. But I do. Be on my side. I beg you."
Shreya agreed to do it under one condition. That no one in the village was to know about her going to Guruappa's ashram. 'It will ruin my reputation,' she said. This was an easy thing to do for Keshav. As long as they feared catching whatever Unni has, they would not dare to enter their house. More than that, people rarely stepped out of their homes these days fearing the incessant rains.
Shreya thought it was the right thing to do. If her brother did not return with a doctor in time, then this was the only way. It might not work, but she was doing something. And if it had the added benefit of making her husband happy, then...
Shreya slept till eight in the morning. It was not much, but it was the most she had slept in the last few days. The godman was still asleep. She woke him up with a proper glass of tea. His movements were stiff and minimal in the way he accepted the glass. There was no thank you, and no attention was paid to her. Silently he drank the tea, his eyes fixed on the wet floor.
It was ten when they left. The godman did not let her pack anything, saying that all will be provided for in the ashram. Shreya kissed her husband goodbye and got on the godman's bike.
The rain had subsided a little, but by the time they reached the village of Chiloor, they were both drenched. It was difficult to navigate the village streets, even though it was deserted. Guruappa had to maneuver the bike carefully through low-rising mounds on the road. He stopped at places, unsure of where to turn next, and eventually, they stopped before a big house. It had to be the biggest house in all of Chiloor. Almost a mansion.
"Why are we stopping here?" Shreya asked.
"To return the bike," he said, fixing the stand of the bike and knocking on the gate of the house.
"It wasn't yours?"
"No. It belongs to the man of this house."
"How do we get to your ashram if you're returning the bike?" Instead of answering her, the godman stared at her chest. Shreya's clothes had become transparent in the rain. Her red blouse and saree seemed like a second skin and the blackness of her bra stood out. She covered her chest and glared at the godman. His eyes had that glow in them. His otherwise lidded, dead eyes.
