DEVI

DEVI

“Just one female character? That’s not going to work,” said ‘Petti’ Khader. “A play must have at least three female characters. That’s the norm. If people just go about staging plays any which way, it’s not going to work.”

“It’s just a play, right?” asked Ananthan.

“What if it’s just a play? Can a man sleep with his mother just because it is a play? Tell me.”

Lawrence was irate by now. “Just talk about the play and watch your mouth. This is the land of the Goddess Bhagavathy, don’t forget that!”

Petti Khader calmed down a bit. “Look here. I started acting in plays when I was 13. In this field for 40 years now. See the keys on this harmonium? All worn down with the touch of my fingers. This is an original British piece. Look – Rodney Reynolds Co. I don’t need to play it. I just place my hand on it and it pours out what’s in my heart. Spins like silk thread. Flows like honey. Just listen to it. Music is not something trivial.”

He put his arm over Lawrence’s shoulder and said amiably, “Son, you are my eldest son Allahpichai’s age. I know theater. The wise ones who went before us did not waste their words. A rule is a rule. If it’s a play, you need three women.”

“Why is that? That’s my question.”

“That’s what I have been telling you. We follow what the wise ones before us did.”

Ananthan was annoyed. “If you just want to follow what the wise ones did, why write something new now?”

“Ah… That’s my point too. Why write? Are you going to write something our Bodheswaran or Thirunayinarkurichi Madhavan Nair or Thikkurissi Sukumaran Nair did not write? Now if you want pure Malayalam, there are dramas written by CV Raman Pillai and Kainikkara Kumara PIllai. You want Tamil? There’s Poet Lakshmana Pillai’s play. Then there are the ones by Sathavathani Sheikh Thambi Paavalar or Kottar Khader Moidheen. So many of them. And Thazhakkudy Azhakappa PIllai’s dramas are gems.”

“So that’s your plan. You want to stage a play that you know. Listen, this is a play we wrote. We’ve been running around like dogs for the funds to stage it.”

“No… it’s just that Sankardas Swami’s works are…”

“Then go bring some money from that Sankardas…”

Petti Khader sighed and shook his head. He had nothing to say to that.

Tablist ‘Chatti’ Chellappan took a final pull on his beedi and came in to ask, “What’s the problem? Two of the keys on his harmonium produce no sound at all. So all the raagas he plays slip off the road and slide down the drain…. If he starts for Mecca, he will end up in Medina. But that will do for our play…. You won’t find another harmonium player for 25 rupees.”

“No one listens when you tell them what’s good for them,” muttered Khader.

“Nadar, you tell me. Where will you get three actresses with our budget? So I wrote a play with one capable woman. He refuses to accept the story.”

“A hearth needs 3 stones. If there’s only one stone, the pot won’t stand on it,” said Petti Khader.

“We were talking about the characters. Not brass pots.”

“Ananthan Nair, if that boy speaks again, I am going home,” said Khader. You are a playwright with a future. That’s why I spoke with respect.”

“Lawrence, shut up. I’ll speak,” said Ananthan.

Chellappan chimed in, “There’s a point to what he says. He just doesn’t know how to say it. But a play needs a minimum of three female characters.”

“Like the Mupperum Deviyar, the three great goddesses.”

“You mean Lalitha, Padmini Ragini, right?” asked Lawrence.

“If this haraami is going to be in the play, I am not. I am leaving.”

“Yeah, leave. Just return the five rupees advance payment.”

“Will you shut up?” chided Ananthan. “Nadar, you tell me.”

“So how old is the lady in our play?”

“Her name is Mohana. Twenty years old. She is the heroine… the love interest of the hero Anandan… we have 4 songs.”

“The young girls who come to watch the play would like her. But most of those who come to watch are older women. They’d see her like their own daughter. They won’t accept everything she says. And they’d find fault with anything she does.”

“Oh!” said Ananthan.

“That’s how it is with plays. We need a character who is just like them blooming biddies.”

“So an old woman?”

“No, not an old woman. All old women think they are just middle aged. We need a character smack dab in the middle of middle aged.”

“But without a heroine…”

“We need a heroine too…. Plus, this middle-aged character. A sister-in-law or mother.

“Oh,” said Ananthan.

Lawrence explained, “He did write in a mother character. Easwariamma… Easwari… But where do we find an actress? So he changed her to an uncle.”

“Just change him back to Easwari,” said Chellappan. “But two won’t do. A young girl, an older woman, we have those. The ladies who watch the play will latch onto one of the two. But you need someone who is a foil to all of them. The evil one. The villainess. If you don’t have one of those, they will not sit through the play.”

“Why?”

“Son, our women here? They don’t see villainy in any of the men. They put up with drunkards and lazy layabouts all day long. Show them a villain with shaggy eyebrows, a big moustache and an ugly mole stuck on him and these wretched women will just giggle at him. But put before them a female villain, and they will curse the living daylights out of her and shed buckets full of tears. We need a villainess… else the play will be no good. That’s it.”

“Why don’t we rewrite our Vatti Rajappa as a woman?”

“Go for it. There’s no other way,” said Chellappan. “Vatti Rajammai. How about that? It’s all the same anyway.”

Ananthan heaved a sigh.

“Then we need three actresses,” said Chellappan. “We could cast a man in the role of one of those women. A man playing the villainess would be good.”

“A man?”

“The women want a female villain. But if she is an actual woman, they might sympathize with her a bit. You see, a softer voice and some grace come in then. All said and done, it’s a woman. So even when playing a female villain, she should act like a man. If that’s the case, a man playing a female villain will be the best choice.”

“Where do we go for a man who will dress up as a woman?”

“I know someone. Guy named Kumaresan. Has an atrocious laugh. Calls himself PSV Kumaresan after the actor PS Veerappa.”

“If a woman laughs like PSV… “

“It will be good. Isn’t she a villainess? Just thirty rupees and money for travel. He’ll come. I guarantee that.”

“Ok, then two actresses…” said Lawrence. “How much would that be?”

“Any way you see it, no less than 150 for a day’s acting.”

“What? 300? Nadar, our total collection is 250,” cried Ananthan.

“We’ll talk to them. They might lower it.”

“Do we need two?”

“If not, the play’s no good. If the audience starts walking out midway, then it all goes downhill from there… These theater audiences are like bats. A few people leave their seats – trust the rest to brush the dust off their asses and walk out.

Ananthan once again heaved a sigh.

“I’ll see about getting 50 rupees…. Nadar, if you come down to a 100, we can manage.”

“Let’s see.”

“One thing,” said Petti Khader. “You need to change the name of the hero. Anand isn’t good enough. Make it Kumaresan.”

“You think I stole my mom’s earrings and pawned them so I could act as Kumaresan? I’ll chop you up and feed you to the dogs!” said Lawrence. “If I can have a stylish, trendy name, I’ll act. If not, Give me my money back.”

“Hold on…” said Ananthan. “Khader Sahib, this is a modern play. Kumaresan is an old-fashioned name.”

“Okay, imagine the heroine is dying. She clutches her heart and wails. If she cries Ananddddd, she is going to bite her tongue. And then the villain. How will he holler his name? Anandddddd will make him sound like a cat that got its tail caught in the doorjamb. But check this out – ‘Ey Kumaresaaaaa!’” he screamed and pressed down on all the keys of his harmonium. “Now how does that sound?”

“Okay, if that’s the problem, we’ll call him Raja. Ey Rajaaaa!!!”

But Petti Khader did not play a background track on his harmonium. “He’s no Raja, is he?”

“Okay then, let’s call him Kaja,” Lawrence.

“I want no part of a play with this wretched chap… I’m off. I have a thousand other plays.”

“Oh so now you are the MGR of Idalakkudy?”

“You shut up… Sahib, let’s talk about Raja…. Now your second son’s name is Sultan, right? Did you name him that because he looks like a Sultan?

“Yes,” replied Khader, laughing gleefully. “He’s a motor mechanic now, you know?”

“So Raja is just like that!”

Khader placed his hand on his harmonium; half closed his eyes, said “Raja!” and slowly pressed the keys. “Eyyyyy RRRRajaaaaa!! The harmonium rumbled. “Hmm, it’s not too bad!”

“Then let’s go look for actresses.”

“When?” asked Lawrence.

“Let’s go right away. Isn’t this the festival season? asked Chatti Chellappan. “Let’s head straight to Amaravilai Junction.”

“Why Amaravilai?”

“If you want a heroine, that’s where you go. Amaravilai, Vallavilai, all along the Neyyattinkarai – Parassalai route.”

“Why?”

“We need an actress who speaks Tamil. If we bring someone from Thirunelveli, the folks here will spit her out as a dark, shriveled up hag from the back of nowhere. They want a nice Malayali chick. But they don’t speak Tamil. Now a Malayali chick who speaks Tamil… you’ll find them in these border areas… I’ll show you the way…”
[2] Ananthan was tired. “How about a cup of tea, Nadar?”

“Tea would be good,” said Chellappan.

Lawrence grumbled, “We’ve had quite a few teas. Looks like that’s all we’re doing.”

They entered a tea shop and seated themselves on the bench. “Vada and tea,” Chellappan placed the order.

“What he says is right, you know,” said Ananthan. “We started at Amaravila this morning and have been to 18 houses already. Nothing worked out. No one’s going to come for less than 200. 400 will go for just the heroine. Plus their busfare, allowance for those accompanying them, food, etc etc. then there’s the cost of the stage, sound system, lights, you need to pay the Sahib. I don’t think this will work without a total of a 1000 rupees/bucks.

“And we have a grand total of 450 rupees in hand,” said Lawrence.

“What’s wrong with this Amaravila Neelaveni? We offered up to 150 rupees. Talks big with that rat face of hers!” said Ananthan.

“Didn’t you say Poovankalai Gomathy is worth 150? You saw her, right? Hag! With two gunny sacks hanging down her chest. Her oldest daughter has just had a baby, and you wanted her to play the heroine Mohana… she said she wouldn’t agree for a paisa short of 200,” said Lawrence.

“Let it go.”

“Let what go? She said it’s a play by kids. That the audience will boo you off stage and maybe throw some dirt and rocks too… she was asking to be paid for that too. If you had any shame, you’d have pulled your tongue out and killed yourself right there.”

“I’m dying now. Is that good enough for you?” Ananthan felt a catch in his throat.

“Chellappan exclaimed, “I have an idea!”

“Spit it out,” said Lawrence.

“What about Neyyattinkarai Sridevi?”

“Will she agree for 150? Supposed to be a big star.”

“Not for a single paisa less than 250. But if we spread the word that she is in the play, we could rake in some money. We can make 200 just from our village. She is the heroine. We’ll get someone local for 50 bucks for the part of the old woman. We’ll get the job done for 300,” said Chellappan. “Even if the old woman botches it, people will sit there ogling at Sridevi.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Lawrence.

“But…” said Ananthan.

“No ifs and buts. We’ll get the job done if we leave now. We’ve picked a day of festivals… if she’s gone, then there’s no point in talking about it later.”

“Yeah, let’s go give it a try,” said Lawrence.

“But, don’t we need money?”

“Money will come. I’ll speak to Chellan Peruvattar. Give him a seat in the front row and he’ll give you 50 bucks.”

“But 250…”

“Listen, she’s my heroine. I’ll donate 50 bucks.”

“And where are you going to get that from?”

“I’ll do something…”

“You’re dead the day your mom finds her earrings missing from her box.”

“But I’ll be off at my uncle’s house by then.”

“Your dad will come looking for me… to kill me,”

“Okay, you guys decide. It’s your call,” said Chellappan.

“Nothing to discuss… we are going and handing over her advance payment,” said Lawrence.

“When they stepped out after paying for their teas, Chellappan said, “Let’s go in a horse buggy.”

“Far?”

“Nope, just close by. But walking doesn’t make us look good.”

“Okay,” said Lawrence.

“How much for the horse buggy?” whined Ananthan.

“Five bucks.”

“Five bucks?”

“I’ll pay. I’m not going to walk to meet my heroine,” said Lawrence.

“Okay, that’s on you then,” said Ananthan.

The buggy driver asked, “You here for a drama booking?”

“Yes.”

“I know this chick. She’s 18. Hot! And the color of palm sugar.”

“Does she speak Tamil?”

“Tamil… she speaks. What is Tamil anyway? If you speak Malayalam with a guttural accent, it’s Tamil.”

“And if you speak Tamil with a nasal tone, it’s Malayalam… get lost, will ya?”

“The buggy pulled up in front of Sridevi’s house.

“This is Saraswathy’s house.”

“Saraswathy? Who’s that?”

“The theater star.”

“Didn’t we say Sridevi?”

“Ah, that’s her stage name. She’s Saraswathy at home… Gimme my money.”

Lawrence just sat in the buggy. Ananthan stepped down, pulled down his shirt and fixed his hair.

“She’s my old pal,” proclaimed Chellappan. and called out, “Sridevi! Sridevi!” The he took his shoes off and stepped into her house.

“Get down!” said Ananthan.

“Man, I don’t have any talcum powder with me,” said Lawrence. He was aghast.

“So what?”

“My face is dripping with oil… I don’t know what to do.”

“The house walls have just been whitewashed. Just rub your palms on that and brush it on your face.”

“Are you serious?” asked Lawrence. “You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”

“I’m serious. Do it.”

He ran his palms across the wall. They came back whitened. He rubbed it on his face. “How do I look?”

“Nice.”

“For real?”

“Yes, for real. You look like you have powdered your face.”

“Tell her I am a BA graduate, okay?” said Lawrence.

“You? Didn’t you drop out after 8th grade?”

“Tell her, man! Just tell her.”

“Okay.”

Sridevi and Chellappan stepped out from inside the house. Sridevi was all smiles. “Come in… come on in,” she welcomed them, and pointed to a woven wire chair.

“I… He…We both…” stammered Ananthan.

“Who is the playwright?”

“That’s me… I wrote the play and…” said Ananthan. His left leg twitched involuntarily, his voice wavering.

“I am the hero,” said Lawrence.

“I can see that. You have the personality of a hero,” she said. “Are you in college?”

“No, I finished eighth grade. Now I run a rubber store.”

“Please sit.”

They sat down.

“Tea?” offered Sridevi.

“We just had tea. But you go ahead if you want a cup,” said Chellappan.

“Muthamma,” she called.

An old lady peeked out. “Tea,” said Sridevi.

The old lady stared at them blankly and went inside. Sridevi followed her.

Ananthan was disappointed. Sridevi looked older than 35. Mature face. A little on the shorter side. Dusky. Slightly buck toothed with dark gums. Was this his heroine Mohana? He wanted to cry.

“I blurted out the truth about my schooling, didn’t I?” asked Lawrence, his voice unsteady.

“She’s too old for the role,” said Ananthan.

“She is my heroine,”

“Man, Mohana is…”

“This is Mohana. She’ll do.”

“Listen to me.”

By then Sridevi joined them. “No one’s home. I have two kids. Both studying in Thiruvananthapuram…”

A cough sounded in the next room. “Who is it? Lakshmi, who is it?”

“They’re here to book me for a drama… hold on,” she said.

“My father,” she told them. “Neyyattinkarai Jeyadevan. He’s pretty well known. A good singer. Bedridden now for the last 6 years.”

“Who’s Lakshmi?” asked Ananthan.

“My sister. She is no more. We were three sisters. Paravthy, Lakshmi, Saraswathy. We were trained in dancing, music… we used to perform folk dances… Parvathy is in Thiruvananthapuram now… Appa always mixes us up/,” said Sridevi. “So what’s the play about?”

“I wrote the script. But the heroine…”

Lawrence interrupted. “It’s a good play. Mohana is the heroine and you have to do that role…you must… please don’t say no.”

“Why not? That’s my job,” said Sridevi. How many women are there in the cast?”

“Three… One is a villain. We have a guy doing that role… if you agree to play the heroine, we will find someone for the other role,” said Lawrence.

Ananthan tried to interject. But his throat felt constricted. But Lawrence was in full swing, gushing with enthusiasm. “The heroine has a great role in this play. You can just act the hell out of it. Song and dance sequences. Jerkers.”

“What’s that? She raised an eyebrow.

“Hey man! What’s that?” Lawrence asked Ananthan.

“Tear jerking… heartrending scenes that make you cry,” he explained.

“Oh…” she responded. “What are you studying?”

“B. Com…” said Ananthan. He sounded like he his voice belonged to someone else.

“These kids have put it together. They don’t have a big budget…you have to be considerate with your rates,” said Chellappan.

“Money is not a problem. You must act in this play. That’s what matters,” declared Lawrence.

“You know my rates,” said Sridevi.

“I’ve told them it’s 300. But since they are my boys, a 50-rupee discount…”

“Please don’t say no,” pleaded Lawrence with folded hands.

“Okay…. Since you insist,” she said. “Who is the other actress?”

“We need to find her. Since we are giving you so much, we don’t have much left. So, we need to find someone local who’ll agree to do it for 50 rupees.”

“Will that work? Will she be able to do a good job?”

“Yes, that is a problem,” agreed Ananthan. “Someone who can actually act won’t agree to 50 rupees.”

“Here’s an idea… I’ll do both roles. Just give me 325 for both.”

“How is that going to work?” asked Ananthan.

“Even if you get another actress for 50 rupees, don’t you have to pay her travel expenses, allowance for those who accompany her, food and so on? That’s going to be 75 bucks. I’m going to be there anyway. I’ll just do that role too.”

“But…” said Ananthan.

“A good playwright can handle it. Just make sure both characters are not on stage at the same time. If at all it has to be done, make one of the characters stay off stage… this is no big deal.”

“But the voice? Two different people…”

“It’s only two people…” and she said in the voice of a middle-aged woman, “Hey Sridevi, what are you up to?” “Is that good? Didn’t I sound like a mom?” And then in the voice of a teenager, “I’m doing my homework mom!” Neither sounded like her.

Ananthan couldn’t believe both those voices came from the same person.

“Good enough?” asked Sridevi.

“That’s good. Good enough, good enough,” said Lawrence.

“So 325… agreed,” said Chellappan.

“Yes…” said Lawrence.

“We’ll…think about it…” Ananthan hesitated.

By then Lawrence was standing up, holding out Rs. 50 in fives. “Please accept this and give us your blessings.”

Sridevi took the money with both hands and touched them to her eyes.

In faltering tones Lawrence said, “You are my first heroine.”

Sridevi smiled and blessed him, “You will do well.”

“So we’ll take leave,” said Chellappan. “And you mark your calendar.”

The moment they were outside, Ananthan exclaimed in exasperation, “Her face is no good.”

Lawrence was pulling his shirt back and blowing out a huge breath in relief. “It’s good. What’s wrong with her?”

“You call that a face? She’s old. A half crone!”

“She’ll do.”

“She is Mohana? Mohana is a college student.”

“Why? She looks like one too.”

“She won’t do. I won’t stand for it. Go get back the advance.”

“It’s going to be her. The play will happen only if it’s her.”

Ananthan was almost in tears. “No man, not her. You call that a face?”

“What? You think your Jayabharathi has a face of gold?”

“Do not talk about Jayabharathi.”

“Who is she to you? Your sister-in-law? Get lost!” said Lawrence. And I will say it. Jayabharathi looks like a pig!”

“You…” yelled Ananthan, rushing to hit Lawrence. Chellappan intervened and shoved the two apart.

“Come on. Hit me man. Hit me if you are a man!”

“Say one more word about Jayabharathi…”

“Listen kid, Jayabharathi is in Madras. Who cares if you guys start quarreling here…? Listen to me!”

He’s insulting Jayabharathi!”

“Look here! Let’s make a deal. You won’t say a word about Jayabharathi. And you won’t say a word about Neyyattinkarai Sridevi.

“Okay,” agreed Ananthan.

Then come, let’s go in peace. Problem solved, right? said Chellappan. “Let’s have a cup of tea. They have excellent pazhampori here.”
[3] The moment the speakers came alive with Seergazhi booming, “Vinayagane!” people started gathering. They came along the narrow paths by the fields, walked up to the alleys and reached the temple yard. The temple was decked out with flowers, tender coconut fronds, and sago palm fronds.

The stage was empty. Ananthan rushed to the back of the stage. The dressing room was a lean-to and ‘Anappan’ Rajamani sat here on an iron chair.

“Get stools for everyone getting their make-up done… and I need a few tables too here.”

“Why do you need stools?” asked Rajamani. “Won’t these chairs do?”

“You need stools for make-up. And tables for the mirror and all the cosmetics,” said Ananthan. “Only if you sit on stools, the make-up man can go around you and put your make-up on.”

“Where do I go now for stools?”

“Get our boys to go ask in the houses around here. I need to take care of other things,” said Ananthan and rushed out.

Ananthan was all flustered and his mind could comprehend no words. He wandered around unaware of what he was doing. Suddenly his legs gave away and he sat down. Something within him immediately pushed him back on his feet, spring-like.

He ran towards Arunachalam’s house. He met Lawrence on the way. “Hey She’s here. She’s here,” he exclaimed.

“Who?”

“Sridevi is here!”

“Where?”

“That Nesappan Peruvattar stopped her on the way here and took her to his house. He’s arranged for tea and snacks at his place. She’ll be here after that.”

“Then you should have just gone with her. Why are you diddling around here?”

“My tummy feels weird.”

“Then go take a dump….”

“I already have, a few times…. I squat down and nothing happens.”

“Get lost you idiot. Why are you telling me this?” said Ananthan and ran forward. Then stopped short because he couldn’t recall where he was going.

Old man Madhevan waved him over. Once he got there, the senior spat out the betel leaf he was chewing on and said calmly, “We need Karukkurichy’s Nadaswaram, ok? They need to play it right during Deeparadhana. You tell the sound guys that.”

“Ok, I’ll tell them,” said Ananthan. Before Madhevan could say anything more, Ananthan entered the temple and out the other side. In the sanctum sanctorum, Krishna stood swathed in sandal paste. Only his eyes were black. The priest was pottering about inside.

Lotus flowers for the pushpanjali worship lay heaped in the front pavilion. The aroma of jaggery payasam rose from the temple kitchen. Achuthan Marar and Chandran Marar sat with their potbellies and chendas. Two men from the music ensemble sat dozing by the wall.

He ran thoughtfully to Arunachalam’s house. Arunachalam was standing by the haystack pulling out hay. As he pulled, his buffalo also pulled out hay and chewed on it.

“What’s up?” asked Arunachalam.

“I kept all the props for the play in the north room here. When we need it for the stage, I’ll send Karunakaran… send them with him.”

“All that’s fine. If a single object goes missing, you pay me.”

“Of course.”

Lawrence came over to him. “Things are looking good. Padippurai Narayanan Thampi gave 50 bucks. Now we’re good. We might even have something left over.”

“What did he want?”

“He wants to have Sridevi over for tea at his house tomorrow.”

“She’ll die drinking tea.”

“Look here. Did I say anything about Jayabharathi? Then why are you dissing Sridevi?”

“Is it Jeyabharathi who is here doing the play?’ asked Ananthan.

“Oh, the great play! You know what? I don’t like it much. I want a fight scene.”

“Isn’t there a fight?”

That’s just a small fistfight. I need a good fight with some hard-core kicking and punching action.

“For the lousy acting that you do, the locals will give you some hard-core action.”

‘Kottodi’ Appu came running up now. He had flung down to the ground the bicycle he had ridden on and came running up. “Anantha, we are screwed. The motherfucker’s run off with our balls.”

“Who?”

“Chuvarumutty Kumaresan. PSV Kumaresan. He’s gone.”

“What do you mean? He was here for the rehearsals. And he took 20 bucks from me.”

“Said he can’t clamp on a pair of coconut shell boobs and play the role of a woman. He told Unda Narayanan over at the shop and left for Nagercoil,” said Kottodi Appu.

“That son of a bitch! Then why the heck did he take the money?”

“That’s a loan for his expenses. Said he’ll return it.”

Ananthan sat down like he’d been hit. His legs trembled and the muscles along his stomach tensed. He was sweating in exhaustion.

“What do we do now?”

“Should we go back to the role of Rowdy Rajappan?” asked Lawrence.

“And who’ll do it? It’s a major role.”

“What are we going to do?”

Ananthan felt broken all of a sudden. “I’ll kill myself. I’ll just go kill myself,” he wailed aloud.

“Hey, hey, people are watching,” warned Lawrence.

“What are you wailing for? That son of a bitch made a run for it. So what? Just put up the play and show them what the rest of us can do,” said Kondotti Appu.

That’s when Petti Khader came up. Harmonium on his right shoulder and dhoti worn uncharacteristically to the right, he came walking slantwise. “So tell me, what pitch should I go for?”

“Pitch…” began Lawrence and then controlled himself.

“Just base will do,” said Kondotti.

“Just base? What do you mean?”

“Sahib, we are eating fire here…”

“Fire? Why?”

“Because we didn’t get our teas. Oh.. get lost.”

“If this harami is with you, you will get no shit done,” said Petti Khader.

“You go get all your stuff ready. We’ll be there soon,” said Ananthan to Khader.

“I’ll go drink a nice cup of tea and be ready. The play is at 9, right?” said Khader.

Annathan gave him two rupees. He took it and walked away.

Dusk was falling. The crowds were gathering for the worship with lights at the temple. Most were middle aged women.

Kaithamukku Narayani Ammachi called out, “Anantha, when is your play?”

“At nine,” replied Ananthan.

“I’ll come watch it, ok?” said Ammachi. “Are you acting?”

“No.”

“They said it’s your play.”

“I am the one who wrote it.”

“What? You don’t stage your play? You just write it? Is that how it works?”

“No Ammachi, it’s a play that will be performed on the stage.”

“Then why are you writing?”

“It’s all my fault! I wrote it. I won’t do it again,” conceded Ananthan with folded hands.

“Hmmm, some writing you did. Go write well and pass your exams,” she said. The old women with her said something and they all laughed.

“What the heck are you going to do at 9?” Lawrence asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll die. I’ll die.”

Mic set Mohan came running. “Anna! Old Man Madhavan is asking for Karakurichi. We don’t have him in stock.”

“Then what do you have?” Lawrence asked. “Just play some nadaswaram music.
How will he know the difference? What does he know of Karakurichi?”

“Anna, I don’t have any nadaswaram music.”

“Don’t you bring nadaswaram tapes with you when you come to the temple?”

“Anna, I did pack them. Sheikh Chinna Moulana Sahib. But I forgot to bring them.”

“What do we do now? asked Lawrence. Here we are worrying about losing our minds and he is worrying about finding lids to cover his pots!”

Ananthan asked, “Do you have Kunnakudi?”

“Yea… a solo…”

“Thavil by Valayapatti, right?”

“Thavil is that dum dum dum beat?”

“You and your… go, play it. If the old man asks, tell him it’s Karaikurichi.”

He saw a crowd in the distance – an open umbrella held aloft in the midst of it.

“Who’s that opening an umbrella when the sun is down?”

As they came closer, he saw that it was Nesappan Peruvattar. He held the umbrella for Sridevi. His teeth shone bright even at a distance.

“Damn! Who needs a flashlight when the guy’s flashing his teeth around.”

Chatti Chellappan came walking behind Sridevi. A bag with tablas hung from his shoulder.

He came up to Ananthan and said, “We’ve had tea. If we do a run through the dialogues, we’ll be ready for the stage.”

“Don’t you need a rehearsal?”

“Just a read will do,” said Sridevi.

“That will do. That will do. Just reading will do,” agreed Nesappan Peruvattar.

“Read what?” Lawrence asked him.

Peruvattar turned around and glared at him.

“There’s a building back here where you can read. Place belongs to the temple.”

“There’s room in my house. We could have done it there.”

“We can do it at your place next year. Your wife would have had the baby by then,” Lawrence said.

Nesappan Peruvattar glared at him. Then turned around without a word.

When they reached the Devaswom building behind the temple, they could hear Kunnakkudi’s violin and the beats of the thavil. And with it the temple bells. The deeparadhana was going on. Sridevi removed her sandals, closed her eyes and folded her hands in prayer.

Nesappan Peruvattar lowered his umbrella and prayed too.

Bill Collector Mani, Panchayat Peon Ganesan, Njanappan, Devasahayam, Betel Shop Kumaresan, Pump Gunamani, Easwaran Nair, Shanmugham, Muruganadi the oil merchant, and Subbaiah Chettiyar were in the Devaswom building. They all held their respective scripts in their hands.

Sridevi removed her sandals and went in. Everyone stood up on seeing her.

“What kind of a place is this?” Nesappan Peruvattar was disgusted. “It’s full of dust.”

“Dust is good for the play,” said Lawrence. “So we hauled some in and spread it around.”

Nesappan Peruvattar glared at him again. Both looked daggers at the other.

“Shall we take a look at the dialogues? There’s no time. I need to get started on my make-up at 8.30.”

“Akka,” called Ananthan in a broken voice. “We cannot stage the play today… That PSV Kumaresan double-crossed us. He ran away with the advance we paid him.”

“Oh no.”

“He was doing a major role. No one else can do it…” he said tearfully. “I am going to kill myself… kill myself.”

“Hush! What kind of talk is that? Kill yourself? For this? Give me the script,” She grabbed it and sat on the steel chair.

She took a quick glance through it.

“I’ll just do that role too. Problem solved.”

“What? Three roles?”

“It’s just that all three characters cannot be on stage at the same time. We’ll fix the scenes accordingly. Just minor changes will do. We can fix the rest with the dialogues.”

“That can be fixed. That can be fixed. Why not?” said Nesappan Peruvattar.

“Like you fixed the carpenter’s wife?” Lawrence needled him.

Peruvattar glared at him.

“Akka, will we be able to do that? asked Ananthan, tears running down his cheeks.

“Where do you think the play actually take place? In the heart of the spectator, that’s where. If you just stand and scream in terror, he will see a ghost before you do…. you just need to tweak his imagination. I’ll see to that… Sit down. I’ll tell you what to do.”

“Will that work, Akka?” he asked.

“We’ll make it work. We’ll need the make-up man’s help. I should be able to change into the villain’s costume in a minute,” Sridevi said. “Who’s doing the make-up?”

“Vadivu Agencies. Set, props, make-up, lights. They are handling everything. 200 Rupees for the whole deal,” Lawrence said. “I’m the one who paid them.”

“That means Achu Annan is doing the make-up… Please bring him.”

“I’ll get him,” said Mani, running out.

“Petti Khader peeped in with his harmonium. “You’d better tell me now. Or it will be a problem later. This thing has a limit with very high notes,” he said. “Doesn’t quite reach there.”

“First check if your harmonium has all its keys,” Chellappan said.

“You can insult me. But insult my harmonium and…,” yelled Khader. “Do you know what this is? A Rodney Reynolds original!”

Sridevi spoke up. “Yes! Isn’t that a British harmonium? Bhai Anna, how are you?”

“Sister, is it you? When did you get here? I didn’t see you.”

“Did you have tea?”

“Oh yes.”

“You go smoke a beedi… I’ll be back soon.”

“On a very high scale, the C note may not quite make it. Thats’ what I meant.”

“We’ll adjust with the C, Anna…. There’s nothing you cannot do,” Sridevi said.

“Of course! I’ll take care of it. The C is all in our hands,” Khader said. “Chatti, ask sister about my harmonium…. The ‘G’ can spin tales… hrrmph… ignoramus…” Then he turned to Ananthan, “Kid, my harmonium needs a mic just for itself. If you want to hear the tales the G note spins, I need a mic…”

“Yes, I’ve told them,” Ananthan said.

“Ok, then I’ll be back soon,” said Khader, making h