Vihaan felt something cold press against his arm. Mere moments later, it came again, firmer.
His world began to revolve. He couldn’t tell why he was where he was. For a fleeting second, it felt like Maya’s house, but wrong—familiar, yet displaced. New.
The smell came next.
It was his clothes: damp and heavy. When he touched his chest, his fingers brushed against something wet.
Milk.
“Vihaan, wake up.”
Shekar’s voice cut through the haze. “It’s time. Go get ready.”
Vihaan opened his eyes.
The thunderous beats of drums broke the rhythm of his heart, and the long, unending coos of horns kept it racing. Bright festive lights overwhelmed his senses, yet his eyes felt heavy, his vision refusing to crystallize.
The last thing he remembered was picking up his phone. Now it lay on the floor near his feet, face down, its screen webbed with fine scratches that hadn’t been there before.
He had fallen asleep. Only for a few minutes.
As he walked toward the house to fetch his toiletries, he nearly stumbled over a man sitting on the floor, weaving fresh palm fronds into a large headgear—mudi, as the locals preferred to call it.
“Steady there, boss,” a soft yet distinctly masculine voice said. “I spent a long time making this.”
The man looked up.
His eyes were greenish-yellow, like dried fodder. The gaze was sharp—cold and intrusive—enough to convince Vihaan that they belonged more to a large reptile than to a human.
“You’re Baby-amma’s grandson, right?” he asked as he tied back his long, thinning hair. “The prodigal son returns, I see.”
It was the Patri. Vihaan was sure of it.
“I’m sorry,” Vihaan murmured, already backing away. He rushed out of the man’s sight.
Vihaan picked up some fresh clothes and his toiletries and walked toward the bathroom. He believed a bath would relieve him of his sleepy state, at least temporarily.
Despite its size, the Dombottu house boasted just one bathroom, and even that was yards away from the main house. As he approached, he saw dark grey, almost black smoke fuming out of it. Someone was heating up the large water cauldron, prepping for a bath.
Both parts of the flimsy wooden door were pulled together, although no one had latched it from the inside. Vihaan wasn’t sure if the wooden latch still existed or if it had long been devoured by termites, like most of the door.
Vihaan knocked twice.
One of the holes in the door provided a window into the bathroom, accessible through little more than a peep. Vihaan avoided looking into it, but the sight still caught his eye. He saw a figure wearing a bright green saree sitting in front of the fire pit, heating the vessel.
“Vihaan?” Malathi’s voice boomed from within. “Is that you?”
Vihaan was startled by his name being called out.
“Get in,” she said.
Vihaan opened the door, and a puff of dark smoke hit his face, making him cough twice.
“How did you know it was me?” he questioned.
“No one else knocks here,” she answered. “Most just open the door and get in; the rest just scream their inquiries.”
Vihaan nodded.
“What are you doing here?” Vihaan asked. Judging by her grand festive saree, he deduced she wasn’t there for a bath herself.
“This is for the Patri,” she answered. “He has to bathe before the ritual begins.”
She tried getting up, but she wobbled as she rose. Vihaan sprang forward, providing a steady hand to help her up.
“And why are you doing this?” Vihaan chided. “Where are the others?”
“They are busy, and this needed to be done,” she answered. “Don’t mind it, Vihaan.”
Before Vihaan could say anything else, she interjected.
“You came here for a bath?” she questioned. “No, you can’t do it.”
Vihaan sighed.
“You can instead bathe near the washing slab,” she suggested. “I think a few of our cousins are there too.”
“But seriously, you guys have no sense of time,” she commented as she walked out of the bathroom.
Vihaan walked out too. He slowly walked through the weeded road behind the bathroom toward the washing slab. He heard the sound of water flowing through what he assumed was a pipe, being obstructed midway by a human body before it could hit the ground.
Vihaan walked closer, prepping himself for another awkward conversation with one of his cousins. But when he was within visible range of the slab, all he saw was a mammoth figure covered in darkness, washing himself.
It was none of his cousins. It was Keshav.
Vihaan walked a few steps further, then halted. He looked around to see if there was anyone who would accompany him there—perhaps a cousin, one of their kids, or even another uncle. But there was no one. No one except him and Keshav.
Vihaan took a deep breath.
A face-wash and perfume should do the trick, he thought as he turned away from the washing slab.
Vihaan retraced his steps back toward the house, but as he approached the bathroom, he witnessed Shekar. He was in all white: a shirt and a festive lungi. He had hidden his face with a white towel, but Vihaan immediately recognized him through his protruding glasses and slender frame.
Shekar opened the doors of the cowshed, which had been abandoned long ago, and entered. Vihaan stood in place, wondering why Shekar was sneaking around, but it did not take him long to recall that the shed acted as a backdoor to the bathroom—something Baby had built years ago after a fire accident killed one of the relatives’ kids.
Vihaan found it awkward for Shekar to sneakily enter the bathroom. For a second, he thought of letting it be, but the cumulative possibilities behind Shekar’s actions intrigued him.
I will blame it on lack of sleep, Vihaan assured himself as he walked toward the shed.
He stood outside, pressing his ear to the tiny opening between the doors. He heard voices, low but distinct. He could hear Shekar being the loudest of them, albeit all Vihaan heard were the illegible remnants of speech. He heard multiple other voices, at least two more.
Vihaan pushed the door ajar, entering head-first. He scanned the shed. Once he was sure he did not have a secret onlooker, he stepped in. He slowly walked toward the bathroom’s backdoor as the voices became clearer. He looked around once again to find stacks of hay lying around.
Good place to hide, he thought.
Vihaan stood behind the bathroom door and peeked in. The Patri was there, sitting on a small stool inside the bathing area. He had two men around him applying oil to his body while he spoke to Shekar.
“Aal Jyothi Dombottudha ullaldhi aware sari ath,” Shekar said. “Aal aa chrisyaandhayam madhimhe aadh, naamma kutumbag ashudhathe kandhol.”
(“Jyothi isn’t fit to be Dombottu’s landlady. She has stained our bloodline by marrying a Christian.”)
“I humbly request to deny Jyothi’s authority when it is questioned tonight,” he added. “My daughter should be the next heir. She is a very kind soul, obedient, and married to a beloved member of our community. It should be rightfully hers.”
Vihaan was startled by Shekar’s proposal, although in hindsight, he found no reason to be overtly surprised. Vihaan found himself drowning into tiny pools of sleep whenever his thoughts lingered, but he snapped back once he heard the Patri talk.
“Avl paaterunay bhootha narthake ath, bhootha,” Patri spoke. “Bhoothag manas ittinda eer panpina apund. Aanda bhoothag eer khushi malpod.”
(“The Bhootha speaks there, not the Patri. If you want the Bhootha to favor you, you should appease the Bhootha.”)
“I have a piece of land,” Shekar proposed. “If the verdict favors my daughter, I shall name the property to whoever you or your Bhootha would wish for.”
The Patri chuckled. He closed his eyes and gave it a thought. He nodded in approval.
“Okay, the Bhootha will favor you,” he said.
Vihaan sneaked back to the veranda to find the villagers overcrowding it. Almost none of the red chairs had been left unoccupied.
Vihaan walked into the crowd, brushing the strands of hay stuck to his clothes, wondering what to do with everything he had heard. The drums were now louder than ever, as were the horns, and the sounds of the chende provided a piercing edge to the already thunderous orchestra.
The noise overwhelmed his senses, making it difficult for him to formulate a way to burst the conspiracy.
Should I tell Jyothi? he asked himself. No, there’s no way I can talk to her alone. Not here, not now.
He walked around with no destination in mind. He bumped into people who either yelled at him or, recognizing his family heritage, greeted him.
“Man, you stink!” It was Daniel. He was sitting in one of the chairs with no one around him. “Where were you all this time?”
Vihaan stared at his brother-in-law for a while, pondering whether to make him privy to the ongoing conspiracy.
“In the shed,” he replied. “I need to tell you something, Danny.”
“Something really bad is going on. We should stop this entire thing,” Vihaan rambled. “We should stop this Kola.”
“Hush.” Daniel held Vihaan’s hand and dragged him down, making him sit in the chair beside him. “Calm down,” Daniel whispered. “Now, tell me what happened.”
“Shekar wants to oust Jyothi from her inheritance,” Vihaan confessed. “I heard him making a deal with the Patri.”
“We should do something, Daniel,” he added. “We can pick up one of the mics and announce it. Or do something.”
Daniel did not answer. He pressed his forehead with his fingers and started thinking.
“What if we do not announce this?” Daniel questioned.
“What do you mean?” Vihaan interjected. “Jyothi might very well lose her inheritance.”
“And then what? What difference would that make?” Daniel said. “C’mon, think about it. I think you will understand better than anyone. This is no place for us.”
“You cannot convince your sister regarding that, and neither can I. Perhaps this will do the trick.”
“You mean we let it happen?” Vihaan laid his thoughts out. “Are you sure? This feels wrong.”
“Just think about it. Look at Jyothi. She is consumed by the responsibilities of her inheritance, to the point that she is ignoring what she already has.”
“Just look at me. No matter how much Jyothi fights for me, I will never be accepted despite my wife’s role in the family,” Daniel added. “Think about my child. It will never be happy here. Dombottu is not a good place for a child to grow; you should know this. Isn’t that why your parents left this place?”
Vihaan sat silent, trying to make sense of everything going on. His head hurt.
“Tell me, do you understand?” Daniel pressed. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Vihaan answered. “Yes, I understand.”
“Okay, good,” Daniel said. “That’s good. Now go in and change your clothes. You stink like a pig.”
“Okay,” Vihaan answered.
Vihaan stood slowly. His legs felt unsteady, and the ruckus created by the crowd, the ritualistic orchestra, and everything else combined into an incoherent noise that numbed his senses.
He walked up to his room and changed into the clothes that Jyothi had made him buy especially for the Kola. He was leaving his room and heading toward the veranda when he encountered Jyothi.
She was coming in from the veranda, talking to Malathi and laughing about something. When she spotted Vihaan, she smiled. She walked up to him and ruffled her fingers through his hair.
“Now, it’s perfect.”
“See, I did tell you that you would look cute in this kurta,” she chortled. “Careful now, don’t go breaking many young girls’ hearts.”
Vihaan looked at her and smiled.
“I will try,” he said.
Once Jyothi walked past him, his smile dropped. He sighed and walked out to the veranda. He spotted the Patri sitting in his earlier place, getting his face painted. The Kola was now mere moments away, and the Patri winked at Vihaan when he noticed him staring.
Startled, Vihaan walked past him only to find Daniel now standing near the center of the veranda, talking and laughing with a man clad in all white.
It was Shekar.
Glossary
- Pathri: A conduit for a Bhootha to enter during the Kola.