The priest approached Kesanna with an aarthi plate full of vermillion, camphor, and ash. Kesanna pulled a pair of camphor pieces from the plate and used the aarthi fire to light them.
After another circle of the stage, he consumed both pieces of camphor and dropped to the floor, continuing his performance at the feet of his mother.
Throughout the years, while watching Kolas, Vihaan had a habit of noticing the performer just after they gobbled the camphor; almost always, he saw them looking down at the floor. He had a theory that they spit it out, and since most of it would have already melted, no one noticed the small leftover.
Kesanna did not do it. Rather, he looked up at the sky as he bobbed his head and hit the ground where he was lying.
The priest’s underlings carried the aarthi throughout the veranda, offering its grace to the audience. Everyone prayed to the fire and applied vermillion and ash to their foreheads.
Then Kesanna stopped moving; he became silent with the exception of a few anklet chimes. The drums and horns stopped too.
Once the aarthi had served its purpose, areca nuts wrapped in betel leaves were distributed among the audience. Most took them with ease, but some wore looks of unease and unspoken defiance.
Vihaan went to unwrap the betel leaf, but Maya smacked his arm.
“Do not open it now,” she said.
“It won’t change anything,” he remarked.
“Still,” she raised an eyebrow, “Not now.”
Slowly, Kesanna rose. He walked up to the priest and took another of the fire torches from him.
Kesanna then walked up to Baby and stood in front of her. Keshav rushed toward his mother and helped her up.
“Ullaldhi, ee bakka ninna kutumba korthina korina per yaan pariya. Yenna badavn nikulu shaanthi malthar.”
(“I drank the milk provided by you and your family. I had a hunger that you quenched.”)
“Yank ee Kola korthina pira udhesha dhaadha?”
(“What is the motive behind the Kola you offered me?”)
Baby couldn’t speak. She tried, but the frailty of her body failed her words.
“Peace and forgiveness,” Keshav stepped in for his mother.
“Years ago, due to youthful ignorance, my mother made a terrible mistake that caused irreversible harm to your mother,” he continued. “Now, she and her entire family wish to repent for our sins by offering you this Kola every year and quenching your hunger by all means necessary.”
“Please accept our prayers,” he concluded, “and grace us and the entire village that believes in you with your blessings.”
“The wish of repentance,” Kesanna remarked. “Very well.”
“A noble motive,” he added, “but it is incomplete.”
Kesanna screamed, garnering everyone’s attention.
“Tell me now,” he announced, “if you or your village needs any questions answered, matters resolved, or prayers heeded. This is your time.”
The people of the village looked at each other, most considering naming their wishes, yet no one stepped forward to do so. Vihaan’s eyes wandered until they finally settled on Shekar.
He looked tensed. He was staring at the house-helps and gesturing for them to go ahead.
The house-helps nodded in disagreement.
Vihaan chuckled.
It did not take more than a few seconds for Vihaan’s smile to fade. Shekar stepped forward.
“I have something to ask,” he said.
Chaos ensued among the crowd as they started murmuring. Keshav raised his brow and stared at his brother-in-law.
Regardless, Shekar walked up to Kesanna and spoke.
“My mother-in-law has been graciously leading our land as its esteemed landlady and caretaker,” he said. “Unfortunately, due to the test of time, her body has withered and she may very well be counting her last few days.”
Keshav, realizing the possible objective behind Shekar’s intervention, stepped forward.
“Shekar-anna, no,” he said. “This is not right.”
“Let me speak, Keshav-anna,” Shekar cut him off.
Shekar settled his gaze back on Kesanna and continued his plea.
“Responsibility for the Dombottu is about to be passed down to Jyothi, the eldest daughter of her generation,” he continued. “But we all think she is not fit for the role.”
Vihaan looked at his sister; he wasn’t the only one. A hoard of villagers had their eyes on their future landlady, who was now on the brink of being usurped.
On the other hand, Jyothi seemed to be in a state of shock. The suddenness of events delayed the reflection of it on her face.
“Not only has she abandoned this land for over a decade and a half,” he added, “she has also corrupted her family lineage by marrying a Christian—a person who does not believe in our faith.”
“Stop the nonsense,” Keshav tried once again to stop Shekar from going any further.
“Let him speak,” Kesanna said with a smile on his face.
“Instead of that girl, I hereby request you to consider an alternative heir to this auspicious land,” Shekar proclaimed.
“And whom do you propose?” Kesanna questioned with intrigue.
“I wish to propose my daughter Malathi to inherit the responsibility of Dombottu,” Shekar said. “She is a kind woman, always a statue of grace and purity. She has never defied her elders and has always treated her culture with utmost respect.”
Malathi stepped in; Vihaan assumed it was under the pretext of stopping her father. But she was noticed by Shekar, who gestured for her to stop. She complied.
Kesanna stayed silent, not uttering a single word while carefully assessing Shekar’s plea.
The interaction between Shekar and the Patri echoed in Vihaan’s ears. He looked at his sister, whose eyes were now filled with suppressed tears. Daniel was standing beside her, trying his best to comfort his wife, but his eyes were fixed on Vihaan.
Daniel swung his head from left to right, gesturing for Vihaan not to do anything. But then Vihaan rested his eyes on his elder sister, and her tears unsettled him. An impulse struck him, and he started walking toward the stage to put an end to the conspired charade.
But then Kesanna screamed—the loudest of the night.
Vihaan stopped.
“Very well,” Kesanna remarked to Shekar, “your daughter is a right fit to inherit the glory of this land.”
He then leaned closer to Shekar’s ear.
“But do you think she is a right fit to inherit its sins?”
Shekar turned pale.
Kesanna walked away from Shekar to the center of the stage.
“Now Kesanna shall grace us by picking his fortunate ones to accompany him,” the priest announced.
“You shall open the betel rolls provided to you,” the priest added. “And those who receive the rotten areca nut will be deemed to have been graced by Kesanna. They will then be freed from this mortal plane within the duration of one month.”
Though everyone present was well aware of this part of the ritual, an audible nervousness brewed throughout the audience.
Vihaan opened his betel leaf roll; his areca nut was as fresh as rainwater. But Maya looked nervous.
“Go on, open it,” Vihaan mentioned. “You know this is a scam. They selectively distribute it so that only the ones already dying get the rotten ones.”
“Not always,” Maya said, and without giving it another thought, she opened hers too. “And once picked, it’s inevitable.”
It was not rotten.
“Looks like I survive this season,” she laughed.
“Me too,” Sundari interjected as she tossed a freshly peeled areca nut to her granddaughter. “Well, it seems you will have to bear me for a while longer.”
“Amma!!” A scream erupted from the entire ensemble. It was Keshav; he had found the event’s first rotten areca nut.
It belonged to Baby.
Vihaan stood in his place with a sudden but fading sense of hollowness in his chest. He felt bad for his grandmother’s fate, but for some reason, he had expected it. He had accepted it.
Keshav dropped to his knees.
His hands trembled as he clutched the betel leaf, staring at it as though it had betrayed him. The priests hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to approach. Jyothi stepped forward to comfort him, but she reconsidered midway.
There was a gaping commotion in the crowd. People gasped as a mammoth of a man held his old, frail mother and shed tears. Two other rotten areca nuts were found: one belonged to someone terminally ill with breast cancer, and the other to a chronic drunkard.
The crowd’s focus remained on the other two victims of the ritual, and their collective eyes were still fixated on Baby and her son.
“That’s enough,” Baby murmured to her son. “Get away from me.”
Keshav complied.
As he let his eyes wander, Vihaan noticed Shekar. He hadn’t opened his betel roll yet. His face showed subtle hints of hesitation and not-so-subtle hints of unadulterated fear.
A thought occurred to Vihaan—an impulse that he did not want to follow through, and yet, in a fight between his will and his impulse, the impulse won.
He walked up to Shekar and stood beside him. Still brimming with residual anger toward Shekar’s actions, Vihaan whispered in his ear,
“It’s time, Chikappa. You should open it.”
Shekar flinched.
Just a twitch at the corner of his jaw, almost imperceptible, but Vihaan saw it. He saw the way Shekar’s fingers tightened around the unopened betel roll, the leaf already damp from his sweat.
“This is not your place,” Shekar muttered, not looking at him.
Vihaan didn’t step back.
“I know. Not mine,” Vihaan remarked. “But it is Kesanna’s—the very one you pleaded your request to.”
“Or shall I say, bribed,” he added.
Shekar froze. He did not say anything, looking away from his nephew.
He opened his roll, now ready to accept whatever fate had decided for him.
His areca nut was not rotten.
Shekar was relieved. Vihaan smirked; he had expected the outcome, but he enjoyed the fear brewing in Shekar’s eyes, and he revered his part in it.
“No, this cannot be happening!” a feminine scream was heard by them all.
It was Malathi. The last rotten areca nut had been found.
It belonged to Harish.