Excerpts

The black night turned pale with the butter coloured moon coming up. Petals of moonlight showered upon the lake of Vembanadu. Glittering waves smooched the slanting shore. Kakkathuruthu, the land of crows, an eyot.

Eappan moved the handle of the wheel gently. The wheel rumbled and turned.

Ker…ker…rrrrr…ker…rrrr…ker…ker…

The wheel worked the bellows. The ensuing air encouraged the burning fire to engulf the firewood. Continuous rotation of the wheel was necessary. Even a minute’s gap would leave part of the shell unbaked. They had to work hard for hours together.

Eappan’s hands worked like a machine. The speed of the wheel increased in a paced manner and rose to enormous proportions.

Ker…ker…rrrrr…ker…rrrr…ker…ker…

White smoke curled up from every crevice of the shell heap. The flow of air was being maintained by the speed of the wheel.


Kora sprinkled water on the baked shell heap and stirred it with a hoe. The first step was over. Now he had to fill the lime in pokes. For that he needed help. Where had Uthuppu gone, Kora asked himself? May be loitering around, he surmised. He walked towards the wherry and crossed the rivulet. Looking towards north he saw two men sitting on the jetty. He needed only one. On hearing Chandy’s words Kora stood in hesitation.

‘Ittooppu, don’t you know grass-cutter Moni?’

Ittooppu replied with a laugh: ‘Who doesn’t know that native midwife?’

‘Have you slept with her?’

‘What’re you saying man? She’s twice our age.’

Chandy roared with laughter, gesturing the obscene. He went on, ‘What has age got to do with this? If you’re healthy, if you’ve the will, it’s okay. When I was just sixteen I did it with her. It was years ago. I had eight Annas in my hand. I was burning for her.’

‘At sixteen?’

‘Why not? I approached her. I knew she liked me. She used to smile at me.
That made me bold enough. She was alone in her house. I grasped one of her bosoms firmly.’


Kaligrandma, father’s mother, understood her yearning for education. Moly could join school. Kaligrandma had told Moly many a number of fable and fairy tale, which she had got from former generations in an endless low of traditional culture.

Once Kaligrandma had asked Moly: ‘Molei, do you know how our dwelling place got the name of Kakkathuruthu?’

‘No, Ammoomma.’

She had smiled knowingly and said:’Hundreds of years ago, a number of people lived here. The eyot was thickly vegetated with big trees and bushes. People, nevertheless, lived the dirty and wild life of animals. In the long run a contagious disease, small pox, spread among them. None of them was spared. Every one perished. Their souls were re-born as crows. Big crows were named ravens with bodies and wings and bills big and charcoal like black in colour. Small crows were named rooks. These had small bodies. Their beaks were whitish and they had a white band around their necks. For years the crows ruled the land. Some adventurous people then re-captured the eyot. Many of the crows left the place, while a few remained. These dwelt atop the huge Anjeli trees.’

Moly remembered all.

Kaligrandma had said: ‘ Crows never die. They live for ever.’

‘Crows never die?’

‘Ya,’ Grandma laughed, ‘When crows grow old, they turn young.’


The next day a man came to Kakkathuruthu. Ittooppu was with him. Seeing a stranger on the eyot, everyone, even the crows, ravens and rooks made a fuss.

‘Caw…Caw…Caw…’

Crows living on the Anjeli tree always eyed strangers coming to the eyot with disdain.

‘Kuriammamothalalan.’

Ittooppu introduced him to the inhabitants.

They went around the eyot. The rumour that Kuriamma was about to buy one half of the eyot seemed to have come true.

Tharathy said: ‘Look Uthuppu. Ittooppu is Kuriammamothalalan’s man now. Why did you hit him?’


‘I haven’t got any peace so far. Disrespect hatred and resentment is all that I got. I’m not blaming my children for it. It is my husband. I’m ready to suffer all that. But when I’m tortured how can I tolerate it? I deserved a better life. My father wanted me to marry another man. He was black so I refused him. He was a good man. Now he leads a good life with his children and grandchildren. I happened to see him once, when I had gone to Kuriamuttom Church. I remember it was Good Friday. He recognised me and introduced me to his family.’

‘You always worry about your lost paradise, Amma. Nobody can go back to the past,’ Eappan said with indifference.

Then there was solemn stillness.

He got up and walked out. He felt heavy at heart. He longed to be at the limeshed. Though a lifeless thing, it was calling him in its own way. It was waiting for him. In the fading light of the evening, he saw something under a coconut tree. The shadow of the tree had swallowed the figure. As he guessed right, it was his father prostrate on the ground.


Still the ominous cry of Kalankozhi was heard from a distance. ‘Vettichudu . . Kuthichudu…Kuthichudu…Vettichudu…’

‘We’ve got seven, Achaya. Let’s call it a day. Let me carry it to the kitchen. They can make the curry as we fill the lime well.’

The priest proclaimed that as it was pithrukalam, the ritual to please the departed soul, everybody had to be careful.

The crows, ravens and rooks perched on the tall Anjeli tree croaked aloud as if they were already told of the rites.

Caw…Caw…Caw…’

Crow…Crow…Crow…’

‘Kshep…Kshep…Kshep…’

Pooja was followed by Keetrthanas, hymns sung by a man with the accompaniment of traditional musical instruments. Those who had pulabandham with the separated soul sat on the floor, made rice goblets and put them on plantain leaves. As Thanka was not a blood relative of Kali, she had not been obliged to do this. But Martha and Moly did it till two plantain leaves were full. All relatives and visitors stood facing the southeast in the direction where Kaligrandma had been cremated. Numerous joss sticks burned during the ritual. The air was full of smoke and smell. Nevertheless the sky lay with a blue graveness, it showered no drop till the rites ended.

The blood relatives after having taken bath and with their soaked garments moved towards the south east corner of the homestead in the order of their age holding the plantain leaves which contained the goblets. The plantain leaves were then put on the ground. An senior relative of Kunjeppu came forward and clapped his hands several times. The croaking of the crows rose into high pitch and they flew down. They sat beside the plantain leaves on which the rice-globlets were lodged. People watched the crows, the black sculptures carved in charcoal. Those who had placed the plantain leaf there watched the scene with a heavy heart to see whether the crows ate their rice lumps. Only when the rice was eaten could they console themselves that the separated soul was pleased.


‘Tell the truth,’ Thanka said, utter helplessness clogging her throat.

‘You have despised us and lead a wanton life. Don’t you hear me. You’re as accursed as Pullukari Moni.’

His voice began to rise.

‘No, not like that. Don’t use such words,’ Thanka said.

‘Stop it, you fool. I shall put an end to her vagary today itself.’

He got out and within moments came back with the gamboge stick that Thanka used for beating rotten husk.
‘Tell the truth, you swine.’

Kunjeppu brandished the stick. He caught hold of Moly and forced her to her feet.

‘Now tell me! What happened to you?’

‘Achcha, have mercy on me. It’s true…’

She could not continue as she lost her strength. She stood there with an empty soul. As Kunjeppu’s grip tightened she shuddered. The gamboge stick was raised, while Thanka got in between.

‘Get away, you bitch,’ he knocked her away.

‘No, beat me instead. Leave her alone.’

‘I’ll kill you first. You…You bastard…. You…’

He quivered with rage.

Thanka made an all-out effort to take possession of the gamboge stick. But Kunjeppu did not give. He tightened his grip on it.

‘You want to kill us?’

‘Ya. I want to kill you. Then I will myself.’

‘All right, do it! But why beat us to death? There’s enough water around us for all of us to drown! Or, we can take odellam nut and die.’

A sudden muteness fell on Kunjeppu like an invisible net. As a big fish fatally hurt, he moved his fins with pain.

She saw something flutter in the pit. She jumped in and took the thing out of water. A chick of a crow without feathers it was but with a long beak, two shining eyes and an unusually swollen belly. Getting out of the pit was not as easy as getting in. She kept the chick safe in one hand while labouring out of it.

Kaligrandma says: ‘Molei, look after the poor thing well.’

‘Ya. Is it your soul, Ammoomma?’ she asked. Grandma laughs.

She looked around to find whether there was any crow watching the event.

If so, it would call the others and the black army would come down to attack.

She covered the chick with the corner of her dress and sped to the house.


‘Kakkathuruthu will improve now,’ Tharathy said. ‘I’ve heard my grandmother talk about Achankara. Do you know the origin of that name? During my grandmother’s childhood the place had another name. I forget that old name. On the lakeshore there were green grass as tall as a man. One day some girls were cutting grass and chanced upon a white substance amidst the grass. It was the body of Veluthachan. It was bound to a log of wood. Waves of Vembanadu had brought it from far away. The girls were frightened. They clamoured. At that time there was only a chapel to which a priest from Kuriamuttom used to come for Sunday mass. The sexton residing near the chapel heard the clamour and came. Parish members followed. They attended to the body. People recognised it. It was the body of Veluthachan tortured and killed by cruel people. Even though he had been killed months ago the body had not putrefied. Money began to flow to the place and a big church was built in the name of the Saint. The old name of the village was changed to Veluthachankara. In due course, the name shrunk in from to Achankara. The village became a blessed one. Likewise, one day our Kakkathuruthu will become big.’

Sara felt as if an invisible hand had struck her. She wished something happened to change the entire world around her. She looked through thewindow. The moon was rising. The earth seemed to have frozen. Not a single frond of a coconut tree moved. A crow cried from the heights. ‘Caw…Caw…’

Another bird began to howl: ‘Vettichudu Kuthichudu…Vettichudu Kuthichudu…’
What was the bird saying? To chop and cremate, to dig deep and cremate, to chop and cremate, to dig deep and cremate. The messenger bird of Deity, Yama. Sara remembered that her friend Kumudam had once told her it as of the messenger bird, Kalankozhi of Yama the Diety of death. Is it a prediction of a coming death? She wondered.

The words were showering like frost. The sleeze was falling over her soul. She drew herself back from the window and sat in the corner of the kitchen. Tongues of fire leaped out from the fire hearth as if searching for anything to eat. A pain began to stream all over her body. Again the frightful wail of Kalankozhi.

‘Vettichudu Kuthichudu…Vettichudu Kuthichudu…’