ISSUE 22

‘Maara! Maara!’

‘Yes, master?’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m right here’

‘Thu!! Where are you?! I can’t see you!’

Maara, who had fallen asleep on a bed of fallen leaves under a jackfruit tree, sat up. His aged body had become so frail that I could hear his voice but not see him.

‘Maara!’

‘Yes, master?’

‘Where are my chappals?’

‘Why would I steal your chappals?’

‘Where are they, then?’

‘Try to remember where you left them. How can your chappals fit me?’

‘Would you have stolen them if they had fit you?’

‘That isn’t what I meant, master. How would it have helped me to steal them?’

‘Listen, Maara. Did I say you had stolen the chappals? I only wondered if you had seen them while working near the front yard. But now that you have started to quarrel, I wonder if you have actually stolen them. A thief’s mind is obvious, they say.’

‘Yes, I’ve stolen them. You raise a thief in your house and suspect me instead! Look, one of the chappals is here. Do thieves steal just one chappal and leave the other one behind? It’s because of this wretched puppy that I get accused of being a thief.’ He cursed Kiwi and started looking for the missing chappal. He’d been blissfully asleep until just then and hated having to look for it.

Maara could have stolen anything from around the house at anytime. But he had never done such a thing, and he wouldn’t have started at his age. I knew he had nothing to do with the chappal’s disappearance. But, if I hadn’t held him responsible for it in some way, he would never have moved from where he slept. He was such a leisurely soul.

I’ve noticed that dogs often start stealing at some point in their lives. Kiwi would carry chappals, brooms and the like from around the house to the grove nearby and chew them up into bits.

Our guests’ socks were its most favourite objects. It probably took them to be rotting animal hide. If I spotted visitors pacing the front yard before they left, I realised immediately that their socks had gone missing. Maara, Pyaara¹ and I would then start looking for them near the front yard and the grove. At some point, the visitors would ask us to give up our search and slip their sock-less feet into their shoes, relieved that at least those had been spared. I came to show more interest in the safety of the visitors’ footwear than in their well-being. My chappals continued to disappear despite my caution.

Kiwi’s thieving exploits would often ruin Maara’s leisurely sleep. He would curse Kiwi with all his heart. He couldn’t contain his anger when it once stole my new chappal. ‘Couldn’t it steal them both? You bring a dog home, feed it and raise it to watch for thieves and it starts to steal! It’s one thing if it steals food. Why does it steal chappals and brooms? Must have been a thief in its previous birth. That’s why God has cursed it to be a watchdog in this life.’ He would chase Kiwi with a stick, although his stick never got near the lightning-quick Kiwi. The puppy’s elusiveness only increased his wrath and made him curse some more. He would then embark on self-analysis: what must he have done in his past life to suffer this fate?

I had initially considered Maara a village simpleton, a big fool. But an extraordinary knowledge lurked beneath the cover of idiocy. It could be called super-intelligence.

‘If Kiwi had been a thief in his previous birth, what were you then?’ I asked.

‘I must have been a policeman. That’s why I have the task of guarding over the estate.’

I had once asked him, ‘Do you believe in God?’

Maara didn’t see much difference between the visible and the invisible, the form and the formless. The formless wind became manifest as a cloud; the same cloud became even more tangible as water. He didn’t spend even a second on my question. ‘What a thing to ask! Can children be born without parents?’ he asked me in turn, pushing aside my question as stupid.

Kiwi’s exploits brought out Maara’s peculiar logic and powers of intelligence. I had to get another pair of chappals after Kiwi had chewed up my new pair. From the very next day, I began to face small annoyances. Every time I tried to put on my chappals, I found that the right chappal had been placed on the left, and the left one on the right. The first time it happened, I had already slipped my feet into them and had to pull them out and adjust them. The matter was small enough to be ignored. I left the house thinking that I must have been in a hurry and placed the chappals the wrong way. But the same thing happened the next day! And, again, the following day! It didn’t stop even after I carefully placed the chappals in the right places. Their positions would get magically switched! What kind of ghostly mischief was this? Was Pyaara doing this while sweeping the verandah floor? Why would he do this daily though? Or, was he doing it intentionally? Didn’t he know the difference between the right and left foot? I wouldn’t have bothered if he had swapped the chappals’ positions in haste. Seeing this happen daily however made me suspect mischief. Pyaara’s notorious pranks in the past came to mind. Things at home could never be found easily because of him. He would shift them around for no reason and then make me look for them. I called out for him angrily.

‘Pyaara, why do you swap the chappals’ position every day? Slipping my feet into the right ones has become such an effort. Can’t you tell the left chappal from the right? You come up with a new prank every day.’

‘Of course, I can tell the difference. That’s why I place them that way. Maara said, “Keep them that way from now on.’’’

They have conspired to drive me mad! Pyaara, Maara, Kiwi, all of them inventing new, ingenious methods for exasperating me. They have discovered that someone can be driven mad by merely shifting his chappals’ positions. Their intelligence was something else! I was furious.

‘Pyaara, this mischief won’t work with me. Nothing ever stays in its place in this house. Pens and books are found only after a half-hour search. If we think about it, fifteen to twenty years of my life have been spent only on finding misplaced objects. I can’t find anything without your help. And, this dog makes it even worse. I’ll drive you all out from here, just wait!’ I cried. It was likely that Maara had been a policeman in his previous birth. He must have been skilled in police torture methods, like aeroplane and Hyderabad goli and in jabbing needles along fingernails. I yelled, ‘Maara, where are you?’

Seeing a minor issue getting out of hand, Pyaara said, ‘Please listen, master. Kiwi tore up your new chappals last time, remember? That’s why Maara asked me to swap your chappals’ positions. Kiwi has stopped stealing chappals since then.’

It was true that Kiwi had stopped stealing my chappals of late. Indeed, pups give up their mischief as they grow older, and, I had attributed the change in Kiwi’s habits to this fact. But Maara apparently attributed it to his swapping the positions of the chappals.

When Maara appeared, I shouted; ‘Are you out of your mind? Why did you ask Pyaara to swap the chappals’ positions? He’s already causing a lot of nuisance at home. The last thing he needs is bad advice from you.’

‘Why do you react as if the skies have fallen when only the chappals’ positions have been changed? Kiwi used to take a chappal to the forest every day. I put an end to it. What do you say to that?’

‘Come on. Who told you that dogs don’t come near wrongly-placed chappals?’

‘Why should anyone tell me? Can’t you see it yourself? Have you lost any of your chappals after I started keeping them that way?’

I was curious to see how the old man’s mind worked. I feigned anger. ‘Maara, what does the chappal’s position matter to a dog? It doesn’t make a difference whether they have been turned upside down. Dogs can’t tell the left chappal from the right. You’re doing these things just to harrass me.’

‘Why can’t they tell the difference? They know these things. If the chappals are placed wrong, dogs leave them alone thinking they belong to a ghost. Tell me how a ghost’s feet are? Aren’t their feet in reverse?’.

Since Kiwi had now stopped stealing, it was risky to argue against the evidence. To see the chappals placed in reverse and realise, ‘O-ho, a ghost has left its chappals and gone inside,’ Kiwi would need to know a lot of things. Think about it. It must first know that humans have right and left feet. It must then know that the ghosts’ feet are reversed. Most importantly, it must know, like Maara did, that ghosts truly exist.

I was in no mood to lecture Maara on rationalism. Instead of attacking his thoughts, logic and intelligence, and the beliefs that suffused his blood, I felt it was better to learn to live with them.

Since Kiwi had stopped its pranks, Pyaara began to consider Maara a great, learned man.

*

Maara was from the Harijan locality in our village. He had lived there before becoming my estate’s watchman and moving to the workers’ quarters. He didn’t have a wife or children. He occasionally took leave to visit a distant family member who was like a daughter to him.

When Maara approached me for work, I was doubtful someone as old as him could guard the estate. Wild boar came from the forest at night. Petty thieves attempted to steal firewood, bananas, cardamom, and jackfruit during the day. I asked, skeptical, if he could manage. He replied without hesitation, ‘Please don’t worry about it. I’ll stand guard like a seven-headed cobra guarding a treasure.’ As I didn’t know how a seven-headed cobra guarded a treasure, his assurance did not convince me one bit. But, only people like him could be found for this kind of work. Sturdy people always went for higher-paying work in the plantations and fields. However old Maara might be, the news of a guard’s appointment alone would discourage theft. After considering all of these factors, I made him the watchman.

The first thing he did was to build a hut out of leaves on an elevated spot near the fields. He would be sitting there whenever I went near. I never saw him do the rounds of the estate. I kept quiet. Let a theft happen. I’ll take him to task then, I thought.

One morning, I went towards the fields to observe Maara’s work-methods. He was asleep on a bed of leaves inside the hut. I was alarmed; how could someone who dozed in the morning watch the fields the rest of the day?

I asked, ‘Is this how you stand guard, Maara? How can you be asleep in the morning?’

‘I haven’t shut my eyes all night, master. That’s why my eyes started feeling heavy soon after I sat down here. Who knows? This area might have been a graveyard in the past. I just don’t feel like getting up after falling asleep.’ He explained the area’s influence on his sleep with a laugh.

‘Look, it isn’t good to joke about matters of work. If you at least shout and make some noise, the thieves will fear the presence of a guard. What will you have guarded while snoring?’

‘Watchmen shouldn’t make any noise, master. Otherwise, the thieves will avoid coming near them and plan to steal elsewhere in the estate. That’s why I stand guard silently.’

Let Maara work how he wanted, I decided. I just wanted the thefts to end. I went towards the grove on the other side of the paddy fields. A walking trail to the Harijan locality was beside it. A Chowdi² tree stood between the trail and the grove. The Harijans beat drums and worship noisily at this tree once a year. Since I usually sent someone to caution them against spreading fire to my estate when they lit a fire for heating their drums, I knew about Chowdi. When I looked at Chowdi, I noticed that her stone idol and the few five and ten paise coins lying around it had been rubbed with kumkuma. The Harijans did offer vows and sacrifice chicken to her. But I hadn’t seen them offer her money. Why had they offered money to Chowdi who didn’t have a priest to officiate her worship? I wasn’t sure who was to collect the money.

I soon learnt that Maara was behind it. Another person called Maara lived in the Harijan locality. Although he was four times Maara’s size, they called him Chikka Maara as he was younger. One day, he and Rudra, another Harijan, came looking for Maara. They seemed quite agitated. I learnt that Maara had beseeched³ Chowdi’s aid. ‘How can he do this?’ they cried.

Maara had issued a warning in the Harijan locality. ‘The Sahukaara has made me his estate’s watchman in good faith. Beware – none of you must try to steal anything from there! I’ve beseeched Chowdi for help. Don’t blame me if something happens to you when you try to steal firewood or jackfruit.’

When I asked Maara about this, he shot back, ‘When the Sahukaara gives me a salary to guard his estate, should I make the necessary arrangements or not?’

They probably wouldn’t have been this terrified if Maara had only beseeched Chowdi for aid. Such a practice has become common in estates and does not scare the thieves much. But Maara had rubbed turmeric and kumkuma on the idol and the coins – this had set off a strange kind of fear among them.

The coins Maara placed before Chowdi had brought seriousness to his sincerity. It’s very hard to analyse the complex transformations Maara incited.

‘Master, let him beseech Chowdi for whatever he wants. It doesn’t matter to us. Its good and bad effects will fall only on those who steal, isn’t it? We, anyway wouldn’t steal from your estate. He doesn’t like anyone in our locality. That’s why he has done this,’ said Rudra.

‘I’ll offer money if I like. Or, even silver and gold. These have to do with my faith. Who are you to talk to me about it?’ Maara thundered.

‘Are you joking, old man? Little children walk past that place. Cowherds, schoolchildren – all of them walk near there. What if they take your coins to buy beedis or matchboxes?! Whose family are you trying to destroy? Remove the coins from there right now!’ Chikka Maara yelled at Maara.

‘Master, we have recently been made to have an operation to stop having children. He has placed coins there to make our little ones die and destroy our families. Let him do whatever he likes to any bastard who steals. But, how can he harass the entire locality?’ Rudra pleaded.

‘Why can’t you take back your coins, Maara?’ I asked, turning towards him.

‘Shiva, Shiva! What are you saying? Is there such a thing as taking back the money offered to Chowdi? Lifting firewood from here, filching jackfruits from there, and stealing cardamom – it’s the same thing, day after day. I’m an old man. How can I watch for all these things? That’s why I made an agreement with Chowdi over how much of my salary I’d give her. Let them steal now.’ Maara frightened them some more.

‘Okay. Giving a part of your salary to Chowdi month after month will add up to a lot of money. What will happen to that?’ I asked Maara.

‘Nothing can be done about it. Please let me know when you decide to visit Mysore. I’ll give you all the coin-offerings. Give it to Chamundamma who resides on the hill there. She is the chief of all Chowdis,’ he replied.

Why should I help the priest there by handing him the small change, I felt. Saying this aloud would have spoilt Maara’s scheme though; and, thefts would begin all over again. I stayed quiet. Chikka Maara and Rudra were further worried by Maara’s sharp declaration. There was no question of removing the coins lying before Chowdi; he was giving her a salary in the same way the Saahukara gave him one.

I agreed to take the coin-offerings with me on my next visit to Mysore. I also asked Chikka Maara and Rudra to caution their children against taking the coins offered to Chowdi.

Maara rebuked Chikka Maara and Rudra after they left. ‘These bastards are big thieves themselves. They had doubted if I could do much as a watchman. Something bad must have happened to someone who took the coins. That’s why they have come here running scared. I’ve seen them steal with my own eyes. Rudra is actually known as Kalla Rudra⁴ in our locality.’

Chowdi had been beside my estate for a very long time. No thief had stepped back from fear until Maara came by. I still haven’t clearly understood the spell Maara cast by placing a few coins in front of Chowdi. Not only did the thefts stop after Maara joined work, the Harijans, alarmed at the add-up in the coin-offerings, abandoned their pathway altogether and found an alternate one that ran along the paddy fields. Apparently the passers-by faced a painful dilemma between the temptation to steal the coins and the fear of invoking Chowdi’s wrath. They made up news that a vulture whistled from atop the Chowdi tree early in the mornings, and avoided walking in that area.

Around this time, wild boar from the Mudre-Mane Reserve Forest had begun to descend on our paddy fields. Their footprints were all over the bunds lining my fields. But they hadn’t entered my fields and eaten the paddy. I had planted the IR 8 variety of paddy. Since this grew only a foot and a half tall, the boar found the others’ fields where taller varieties of paddy like Ratnachudi and Kirawani had been grown, more attractive.

Curious about how Maara interpreted this situation, I asked, ‘Is this how you keep watch, Maara? Many boar have roamed around here.’

‘Is that all? Let them roam. It’d be a loss only if they ate the paddy.’

‘Why do you think they haven’t tried to eat any paddy?’

‘How can they eat it? They can’t open their mouths.’

‘What have you done to them?’

‘Their mouths have been locked. Chowdi locks their mouths before letting them in and unlocks them while letting them out. That’s all!’

I was afraid that if I spoke with him any further, he would transform me instead of the other way around.

After taking up work as an estate-guard, the wily old man sub-contracted the job to Chowdi and slept soundly in a flimsy hut near the fields. And Chowdi, who had taken his tiny pay, had to watch over my estate night and day, fist cuffs and locks in hand.